


An Escape

by Unified820



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anger Management, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Nudity, Slow Build, Teasing, Tevene, Things heat up fast, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unified820/pseuds/Unified820
Summary: Set after the beginning of Act III.  A reimagining of what led up to the reunion of Fenris and FemHawke.She is feeling the pressure of being Champion and needs a release."Here, at this moment, she was not a Champion; she had no responsibilities, and certainly no allegiances outside herself. The freedom the feeling afforded was worth more to her than almost anything."





	1. Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfiction. Please feel free to share your thoughts and suggestions.  
> \- Nothing ventured nothing gained ;)

The flicker of light from the princely moon signaled its intent to rest behind the horizon and beckon its bright lover to rise as Hawke stood from her bed and glanced out the tall arched window. The seasons had changed three times since her last visit and taken with them the remnants of her hopes and security. She could not have anticipated any of the recent events and the shock pestered her daily. Dark thoughts found roost easier and proved harder to lose, but the preparation for this day was a solace to her overstretched mind and volatile emotions. With a soft grunt, she pulled hard to free the trunk from its confines under her bed. Taking in its aged beauty, she ran her palms across the divots and grooves she knew so well, feeling each knot and scrape. She recalled the day she had seen the trunk in the market stall, how long it had taken her to save up for its purchase, and the pride she felt in the first item that she could sincerely call her own since her arrival in Kirkwall. With tender affection, she loosened the straps keeping the seal in place. As the last of the latches fell away, she let her fingers trace to the outer corners of the lid, and with the timidity of greeting a neglected friend, she raised it.

The light leather armor she had nurtured in her exodus from the Blight so many years ago, still held traces of Ferelden within its stitching, and the smell of it filled the room as she slowly pulled out the individual pieces she would need for her journey. They were faded and worn thin in vital places, but she had cared for them as if they were a priceless extension of her. When she had been forced to upgrade to heavy armor during her time with the Red Iron, she had been mindful, preserving and packing each article with tender affection into the simple trunk. Now she called upon them again, more to protect her from her herself that an external threat. She surveyed their condition to ensure that wearing them would not lead to their destruction; she could not stomach that loss. She needed this armor to survive, a living testament to the determination she once had. The signature red ribbon she would use to tie her silky raven hair into a high bun because she would need the wisps off her face for the climb. It was soft and only slightly faded. There had been more of them at one time, a gift set from Varric on her first name day in Kirkwall, but the rest were either lost or destroyed, one even stolen by an elf in the night. This last piece served as the binding of her memories and hopes from a simpler time.

The gauntlets with an extra wrapping of fur secured around her elbows to avoid the telling scratch marks from the jagged rock face. She had stealthily removed these from a downed slaver. He had been an archer, and as she had picked his pockets clean, she turned back to them, thinking that their size and the small metal rings on the outer portion could be useful. The dark leather boots laced high up to her thighs, afforded similar comfort for her knees. They had been Bethany's growing up, but as she had outgrown her older sister, Hawke had begged to her to pass them down. They were impractical for a warrior, but she had not cared, no way of knowing that her armor choices would be so vital in the future. She decided against wearing the leggings, preferring to feel the sea breeze on her backside as she traversed to the cave. She chose a thin ivory tunic given to her by Isabella but paired it with the soft leather breast plate rather than a pirate sash. Reviewing herself in the mirror, she considered that Isabella would be proud of her choice of attire. The armor curved Hawke's frame tightly, and the sheer tunic drifted out from the bottom like a delicate skirt. She looked like equal parts assassin and siren, and she pursed her lips at the thought as she palmed the leather across her abdomen.

She left her massive sword in its mounted position on the wall next to the only portrait she had of her father. Giving the picture a respectful nod, she armed herself instead with an assortment of daggers and knives. Checking the quality of their edge and the measure of their balance, she secured the two largest to her back and slipped the rest away inconspicuously as needed and as space allowed on her body. She knew journeying alone on the Wounded Coast was dangerous, and she wanted to keep her exposure to a minimum. She chuckled to herself at how thoroughly she had prepared for this moment, dragging her companions out day after day during the previous week to remove any bandits, slavers, or Tal-Vashoth under the guise of her status of Champion of the city and its protector. She was confident that her choice to leave before dawn break and not to return until at least the next morn would afford her the best opportunity for safety as well as keep her scant clothing choice away from prying eyes. She laughed to herself at the thought of the upstanding citizens of Hightown scandalized at the sight of their Champion running through the streets like a crazed escapee whore from the Blooming Rose.

She needed an escape, and this visit to her cave would provide it. She picked up her rough canvas sack and secured it to her back and blades as she made her way swiftly but quietly down the stairs. She slipped Bodahn a cryptic but telling note under his door; he would help her keep her well-meaning friends and demanding audiences away. The large wooden front door was far too cumbersome and noisy to provide cover for clandestine activity, so she snuck out through the cellar, descending into Darktown's dank passages she knew would smuggle her out of the city unseen. Soon enough the fresh sea breeze would whip against her face as she would step out of the last bit of tunnel on to the worn dirt and sand of the Coastal road. The thought heralded the return of her warm smile, a smile that had been absent for some time.

As she walked the familiar route, she considered the smile she felt, the ache of her cheeks. It was no one's fault it had fallen into disuse. The last few months had been difficult. She was alone, save for Gamlen and he did not count as family as far as she was concerned. He was a pariah and a leech. He had expressed adequate concern when Leandra went missing but was too eager to provide consolation in the comfort of the mansion after her death. Bethany was a Grey Warden and all but lost as a sister, certainly as a confidant and friend. Hawke had even found herself distancing from her beloved Mabari; he reminded her too much of what she had lost over the years and how much she had failed.

With each step, she succumbed once again to the darkness that followed her. She counted the times her friends had betrayed her, the times their needs came before her own, and she anticipated it would not be much longer before what little bound them together broke as well; it would mark yet another of her failures. The Arishok, Hadriana, Denarius, Verania, Leandra, Malcolm, Carver, the good and the bad were all dead. It was not that she had such a great relationship with her mother or Carver, the opposite was truer, but they had been the last vestige of a life Hawke now realized she missed dearly. A tear began to roll against her cheek, following the worn path created by its predecessors. It burned on her raw skin as she stepped out of the tunnel into the rising sun. Brushing it aside and letting the light serve as a crutch for her spirit, she hitched up her sack, double checked her weapon placement and set off down the coast.

Her secluded spot was not far, but it was well hidden, herself only discovering it by accidental near death all those years ago. She had been so young and naive when she arrived in Kirkwall, at least in comparison to who she had become. Sneaking off from the rest of the Red Iron Camp she had found the little patch of road that curved down and to the left of the central area before abruptly stopping at a cliff. A single sparse tree perched on the ledge and she had sat beneath it dangling her leg over the side, reading a book in the afternoon sun. Even then she would steal away for moments of isolation, letting her pale skin turn pink under the blaze of the warm afternoon light. When Meeran had come searching for her, his call had startled her, and she had dropped her book over the edge. So poor she was then, it had seemed entirely reasonable to free climb down the cliff face in an attempt to retrieve the book from the small outcropping on which it fell.

The climb had been steep, and she felt rewarded when she realized that the outcropping spread further down the edge of the cliff to reveal a small cave that tucked neatly into the side, hidden from all but sea view. That had been the first of countless trips she would make over the years. Each visit she would bring supplies until she had made the cave both a second home and a secure refuge from another's accidental discovery. She had smuggled books, candles, dinnerware, rations, medical supplies, and enough rugs and blankets for a comfortable pallet even in winter. Now she was not sure what she would find. As her notoriety had grown and her bands of friends and responsibilities expanded, it had become harder and harder to sneak away. The current weight of it all made her fear this would be her last trip, and she wanted to make the most of the experience. She would stay as long as she possibly could. Perhaps, if she prayed to the Maker, He would let her stay and melt away from the world. She held the prayer on her lips and paused a moment letting the hope cry out to Andraste before she grabbed hold of the rough bark of the tree and began to climb down to the outcropping careful not to leave telling signs of her presence in the sand.

The cliff face had long ceased to be a menacing foe. The rock that had once been sharp and foreboding was now worn smooth from her repeated grips and holds. Like a gentle lover, Hawke knew where to touch and when to release, and the stone rewarded her with an easy descent. The sun had risen beyond the horizon but was still low. The view was breathtaking as it encompassed nothing but sea and sky. As she landed on the small edging path with a short bounce, she took a deep breath and stretched her arms wide to embrace the warmth of the sun and the fresh flirt of the sea breeze. She would miss this: the halo of soft light, the gentle lapping of the waves below her, the rustle of the leaves in the scattered bushes - the serenity. She would miss it perhaps more than she missed Lothering, more than her family, more than any future she could have had. It was selfish to think so, but there was no one here to criticize her. Here, at this moment, she was not a Champion; she had no responsibilities, and certainly no allegiances outside herself. The freedom the feeling afforded was worth more to her than almost anything.

No one knew where she was. Bodahn only knew that she would sneak away occasionally and it was his job to make excuses. Her friends would worry if she stayed away too long, but at this moment, she did not care. They could mount a search party with the entire city guard, and they would not find her. No one would think to search by sea and Isabella did not yet have a boat, despite the demon's promise, a meaningless betrayal. Hawke imagined the party looking and calling for her desperately from the little path by the tree, but no one would see her even if they looked down. She could stay in her cave with a stock pile of rations until they gave up the search. Only then would she venture out to hunt and fish. She contemplated how long she could stow away and if it were possible. She knew how to sneak and steal, and surely the city could herald a new champion; the statue barely resembled her anyways. She let these wild imaginations roam freely in her mind, closing her eyes as she walked towards the cave; she knew the path by heart and would not stray. She let the thoughts cradle her, and her head felt light and free for the first time in years.

It wasn't until she met the edge of the cave entrance that she sensed something was wrong. Her eyes flew open, and she froze in her tracks. She could hear movement from within and see the dance of fire light on the far wall. Slowly and stealthily she let down her sack and reached up to unsheath her twin blades, careful not to let their razor edge sound at the release. Being a warrior, she was more adept with her long sword, preferring to charge her enemies rather than rogue behind them. She valued directness and efficiency, but she had maintained her knife skill, appreciating its practicality in tight spaces. Despite her preference for lunges and blows, she was flexible and agile enough with the blades to fend off what threatened her seclusion. She flattened her back against the rock face, twirled the daggers in each hand until she was satisfied with her grip, and held her breath as she gingerly peered around the corner, taking stock of what she could see.

It had been too long since her last visit to tell how much had been disturbed by this intruder, but she was confident he was alone. Slowly she pivoted on her left foot and rotated to creep along the opening. A few silent steps and she could see the form of her intruder. He was taller than her but not large and stood not ten feet away with his back to her. He was unguarded and apparently not expecting to be interrupted; that would be a stupid and deadly mistake on his part. With quick precision, she snuck up from behind and brought the tip of one blade to the small of his back while she reached up on her toes to stretch the length of the other against the front of his neck. She would kill him and throw his body into the sea, but first, she wanted to know how he had found the cave. Even if she could never return, she would be sure no one else could either.

"Hawke." The sound of her name filled her with dread, and she stalled in place, still ready to strike but afraid of what would follow. She swallowed the fear and renewed her threat as she pressed the blades deeper, threatening to draw blood.

"Hawke," the voice called again but this time sterner, a further octave lower, and more gravely. She considered it for a moment before the realization of familiarity caused her to release her prey with a swift step backward.

"Fenris!" she exclaimed with a twinge of anger in her voice. "What are you doing here?" The question arrived more like an accusation than a query. Despite his status as a friend, he had still invaded her sanctuary, and she would know why.

"One could ask the same question," he stated flatly, as he turned to face her, pulling the cloak of his hood down with one hand while the other held one of her journals. Her eyes darted to the journal he carried and had apparently been reading; Hawke could feel the anger rise in her chest.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, rage had threaded into her tone, and she did not care to mask it.

"Again, one could ask the same," Fenris replied nonchalantly - as if it were completely natural to wonder upon a hidden cave and read a friend's private journals.

Now Hawke seethed. The smug superiority of Fenris's tone sent waves of fury skittering through her body. The cave was her space, and he was an invader, and she found herself wanting to tear his heart out for the invasion. She was always impetuous but had the capacity for control when needed - not today. She had been teetering on the edge of a break for some time, and she needed today, this cave, this time for herself. The need had built in her until she could not contain it any longer. The anticipation had been sweet, and now he sought to deny her release. The swell of emotions that she had desperately fought to keep pent up behind a veneer of calm now released like a torrent upon Fenris. She was no longer in control, the tide too strong to hold back. The rage, pain, hurt, and fear bellowed out from her in shocking fits of screams and sobs. Hawke ceased to be - raw emotion, unfiltered by concern for others now breathed into life. The tender threads of her anguish now unbound, burst out like wings from her soul. Her cheeks flushed, and her veins stretched to breaking underneath her skin. Were she a mage, she would have engulfed the cave in flames.

He had been spying on her, but for how long and why, she demanded to know. What right did he have to be here, uninvited and unwelcome, reading her private journals as if it were public fodder for another of Varric's tawdry novels? Robbing her of privacy, betraying her trust, what did he want from her now - surely to add to the list of demands from every corner of the city? Her onslaught of condemnation continued until she was hoarse but the power of her liberation willed her to keep going. Soon enough she found her second wind and began a fresh deluge of verbal assault for everything she had been through the last seven years; everything he had put her through for the previous three. It was brutal and cruel.

She had not held back an ounce of her rage; even undeserved accusations were folly for her. The twin blades she gripped so tight the leather audibly protested, expanded her reach. She used them to emphasize her points both literally and figuratively. His blind hatred of Mages disgusted her. He would not even attempt to acknowledge Ander's name. Was Fenris only to be known as a slave? His refusal to share his secrets but eagerness to steal hers was hypocritical. Speaking of things taken, what the hell was he doing still wearing her ribbon and house crest? What were they to signify but his broodiness; his callousness; his leaving. On and on she went, pulling insults and curses from an assortment of languages and cultures as if she had a bottomless well of denigration at her disposal.

At no time had Fenris flinched or made any attempt to respond. He quietly listened and absorbed it all. Blow by verbal blow, he held fast to his position and let her passion crash against him until at last she was spent and sank to her knees in the sand. He watched as she collapsed exhausted, eyes filled with tears that she had no more energy to spill. He could hear the raw chords of her voice in her mumbled words as she melted into the floor of the cave. At last her grip loosened and the blades slid quietly to rest in front of her as her arms lay upturned on her thighs. Her head hung back, revealing the long arch of her neck and jaw. Her hair had begun to fall out of its bun sometime during her fit, and now loose tendrils of ebony caressed her cream skin. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed; she did not stir. Fenris continued to wait, not wanting to disturb. Only until he was certain she had either passed out or fallen asleep did he move. Slowly he bent down and picked up her blades, moving them to the table in the corner; he would need to be careful as he was doubtful they were the only two she carried.

Walking back towards her with the grace and quiet his elven frame afforded, he cradled her head in his hand as he knelt before her. Slowly he raised her head, confirming that she would remain undisturbed. With his free hand, he swept hair from her face and traced her cheekbone with his finger. She was peaceful after the storm, like a small child, and he let the corners of his mouth upturn at the thought. Shifting in his stance, he brought his hand down her body to the crook of her spine where it met her hips, scooping and lifting her up in one quick movement. He was strong for his frame, and she was so small, a head shorter than he. He carried her, close to his chest, over to the blanket pallet of soft fur, inhaling the velvet scents of citrus and woods from her hair. Delicately he laid her down and adjusted her position as he thought would bring her comfort. Checking again to ensure she had not stirred in her movement, he began to remove her armor. Sleeping with hidden blades was not advisable, and he considered the risk that she would be further enraged by his liberties, but decided it was worth it to avoid injury. In this prone position, her tunic barely covered her small clothes, and Fenris took a deep breath, averting his eyes as he reached for the laces of her boots. They were knotted and folded against the soft skin of her mid-thigh, mere inches from temptation. He shook his head and renewed his focus as he let his fingers press against the length of the leather, feeling for any blades hidden within. Finding several, he mapped their location in his mind before he swiftly un-threaded the boots and pulled each leg free from its confines. He collected the four additional blades he found and added them to the table, before returning to her side once more.

He repeated this procedure with each arm until finally, his hands lay hovering over her breastplate. He watched as her breasts slowly rose and fell with her breathing, stretching against their confines on the rise and creating an inviting valley on their fall. Removing the final piece of armor was not entirely necessary, but he could not stop himself. Slowly he moved above her and bent over letting his lips rest barely touching her forehead. He returned his attention to her armor and with the same careful grace, worked at the security of the piece until, at last, it came free in his hands. She now lay in nothing more than the sheer tunic with the dark color of her breast band as a beacon through the fabric. He paused for a moment, admiring her, and remembering what she had felt like in his arms, the tender touch of her lips, and the warmth of her desire. The memory chilled him as it coupled with the knowledge that he had given it up despite her pleas. He pulled a large piece of the fur over her, tucking her into to her respite with one last glide of his thumb against her lips. Turning away from her, he gathered her armor and the further collection of knives he had discovered and deposited them all on the table, taking a moment to organize them along with his thoughts. Finally satisfied with their condition, he moved to unpack his supplies and consider what he would say when she woke.

His knowledge of her secret hiding spot was something he never planned to reveal. There were a large number of things he had not intended for her to know. He ruminated on the words she had spat at him and admitted that she was right in many ways, but so wrong in crucial points. He was not reading her journals but supplying her with new ones along with fresh quill and ink. He cared for her more than he could have imagined himself capable, and would never cross such a boundary despite any desire to do so. Yes, he had left her bed that night but had never left her side. She did not know the care he took to upkeep the favor he stole and how his skin contrasted in color from its permanent placement on his wrist. She did not know how many nights he sat perched on the window ledge of her bedroom keeping vigil as she slept, seemingly to keep her safe from would be assassins but more so to be near her. She did not know how many times he had crept into her room and held her when she had nightmares of the flight from Lothering, the Ogre, the Deep Roads, Quinton, and the Arishok. She had not heard his words when he whispered his love to her as he soothed her back into the Fade of sleep. He knew every part of her, every facial expression, every twitch, and every tone of her voice.

He was aware that she had been thinking about returning to the cave and it had been his intention to check its security and restock before her visit, his anonymous way of showing he cared. He knew that she was laying the ground work for a return after the second straight day of bandit hunting along the coast, but was surprised at a depth of her deception. He had thought this morning was the perfect opportunity to check the cave, believing that she had imbibed too much the evening prior. After a full day of traipsing along the coastal trails and fighting fewer and fewer enemies, she had offered to buy everyone a few rounds of drinks while they played Wicked Grace. No one had turned the offer down and the evening had quickly delved into a raucous of activity. Hawke had given an impressive performance of insobriety: dancing suggestively with Merrill and Isabella to tease Sebastian, plainly cheating the Abomination out of a few coins, even flirting with Varric about his chest hair and a threesome with Bianca. Her encore had been the wavering walk back to Hightown with Fenris holding her up along the way. She had slurred her speech and let her eyes remain half lidded as she held his arm. He laughed to himself and then sighed deeply; he understood the depths of her disappointment to find him in her space after so much hard work.

A prick of hurt rippled across his heart at the thought she was disappointed to see him. He could expect no less, and surely it was for the better. The distance is what he had wanted after all. He wanted her to hate him, to make it easier for him to justify his cowardice. Every syllable of her rage had been a welcome lash against his self-imposed exile; the burn of her hate fueled his deserved misery. He would follow her as long as she allowed, tethered to her by some sick desire to belong. He had longed to be free from Denarius, but now that he was, he found the freedom tasted of ash. Exchanging new candles and linens he brought for the dust weary ones that had remained since her last visit, he wondered if it was possible to belong to someone but not be owned by them. Surely there was a distinction given the differences between Denarius and Hawke. The former had commanded, demanded, and possessed; the latter had asked, requested, and desired. Fenris frustration with his confusion grew as he finished the preparation he had planned for her. Finally, he stood and let out a groan as he stretched his arm up and back, kneading his spine on his neck as he tilted his head and let his eyes sweep across her sleeping form. There was nothing more he could do.


	2. Catch and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Must it get worse before it gets better? Hawke deals with the aftermath of her outburst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super angsty and intense. I had thought to finish in three chapters, but there is too much detail to share. This will be a smoldering fire, not a quick burn. Also, I'm considering upping the rating warning into the big kid playground after this; details are so important.

Hawke stirred; it was peaceful and warm in her dream, and she wanted to remain. Briefly, she opened her eyes, remembering she was in the cave but nothing more before she drifted back to sleep with the feeling of being pampered and adored. Her eyes did not flutter again for several hours. When they did, she inhaled the salt sea air and stretched out from under her covers, pausing for a moment with her arms lifted high above her as she enjoyed the feel of the stretch in her sore shoulders. The stab of pain suddenly reminded her of the events preceding her slumber, and she rolled her eyes at the embarrassment before she caught sight of her bare forearms. Quickly she sat up, forgetting the shame she felt and threw off her cover to assess her state of dress. Fenris had removed her armor - all of it!

She scanned the space of the cave and saw nothing; he had left again, she could hardly be surprised after what she had said, but the disappointment lingered nonetheless. Apparently, he had been decent enough to leave her tunic and underclothes unmolested, or perhaps he had not cared to try. Hawke sank back down to the pallet and let her arm shield her eyes from the pain she felt. She could hardly expect him to feel temptation; he had never again made a move to touch her and almost flinched if she made contact even unwittingly. She lay still, feeling the lingering effects of her outburst weigh against her chest and provoke her mind.

She shivered a bit, trying to shake herself into a semblance of happiness, and swung herself upwards as her feet fell over the side of the raised pallet and came to rest on the tan dirt of the cave; her toes wiggled in the sand and dirt composite. There was nothing more to do but enjoy her remaining time she decided. Fenris would rat her out to her friends, and her deception would be exposed soon enough. They would all know her weakness and immaturity and regard her differently she was sure. However, it would not necessarily be bad, she knew further changes were coming, and maybe this would be a catalyst for an easier transition. Her thoughts turned to the cave and the knowledge that she would never be able to return; she would add the cave to the list of the dead, surely it had been just as important to her.

Standing with purpose, she placed her hands on her hips as she looked around the space, taking inventory. Her armor and weapons were neatly laid out on the table. Her two long blades looked recently polished. There were a few candles lit on the space and a fire near the front edge of one side of the cave walls. She noticed the fresh stock of linens and food, the bottles of wine. There were a new ink pot and a selection of quills next to her book collection; Fenris must have brought them all, but why? Had he intended to borrow her space hoping she would not notice? Wasn't his dilapidated mansion enough for him? Hawke let out an aggravated sigh at the thought. He had already taken everything else from her, and she was weary of the idea of having nothing left for herself. She had pined for years at his memory and had finally resolved to set herself free. This time was supposed to be her opportunity to let him go, to harden her heart from him, but yet he dogged her. If these gestures were for her, then why? She wanted to scream but felt the rawness in her throat and thought better of it.

She remained motionless, lost in her thoughts, standing in the middle of the cave. She was suddenly tired. Tired of Kirkwall and its misery, tired of the battle between mages and templars, tired of the purgatory of Fenris's attention. Too tired to dwell on the mess she created upon her arrival, she dug deep into her chest to find her cavalier attitude from earlier. She took several long breaths, marshaling the feelings that had warmed her in the initial hours of that morning. With sudden abandon, she pulled her tunic off in one swift movement and let it glide to the floor like a wisp of the wind. Maker damn her, but she would not give up her time so willingly. They could take everything from her but this moment and she would cling to it until her last. Stepping out of her small clothes, and undoing her breast band, she let them lay where they fell in a heap on the floor. She wanted nothing more at this moment than to lay exposed to the sun and let it tan every inch of her flesh until she could stand it no longer. The sun would burn away her feelings along with the pallid of her skin.

As she walked to the front of the cave to greet the afternoon, she let her hands run over her bare body. She had never brought a mirror to the cave and now regretted the lost opportunity to admire her form. She was not vain but rather longed for affirmation that she was desirable. She had many suitors now that she was Champion, but political security did not fill the cavity that grew from want of touch. She evaluated herself as she ran the callouses on her hands over the remaining soft and supple skin hidden from view. She was not petite, but neither was she built like Aveline. Her muscles were strong and lean and created soft rolling hills in their definition. She had been careful to combine lengthening and toning exercises to her training so as not become a boulder. Her breasts were a good size she thought, though certainly disappointing in comparison to Isabella's. At the thought, Hawke let her fingers trace down from her collarbone, down the center of her chest, and swirl around her navel before caressing her backside. The feeling reminded her of Fenris's touch. His fondness her ass had not gone unnoticed, and in the time since his last embrace, she had devoted extra attention to the area. Her hard worked had paid off as she now had a rise to her back that had not been so prominent before and her cheeks were more buoyant and round.

As she stepped out of the cave and into the light and heat of the afternoon, she closed her eyes, remembering his gaze and how safe it made her feel, only observing, not expecting or requiring her action. She had succumbed to the memory of Fenris's intensity in the privacy and solitude of her bedroom on more than one occasion. In public, she had stolen countless glances at him when he was not looking. Her heart fluttered, and her resolve weakened as a wash of sorrow came over her. Doing her best to shake the feeling of having been cast aside she formed a wicked thought and let it spark in her eye as she considered flaunting her naked form before him next she saw him. He had once desired her, and if she could peak that interest even briefly, then she could be the one to leave him cold and unfulfilled. A small measure of retribution that might help her finally seal him away from her heart. With the rush her fantasy of revenge afforded, she thrust out her chest, hands on her hips, her head held high, and mused aloud, "eat your heart out Fenris!"

"If you insist," came a low growl from her side.

So distracted by her rapture that she almost missed it, thinking she had imagined it at first. It was not until she renewed proper posture and turned her head that she saw him standing there. Fenris had not left, after all. He stood leaning against the rock edge; one bare foot kicked up to his thigh as he pressed against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. It took her a moment, blinking stupidly, to realize he was not wearing his customary armor, it lying in a pile to his side. In fact, he wore only his tight leather leggings, leaving the tanned skin and swirling lyrium on his chest vulnerable to the sun's rays. She immediately turned and attempted to cover herself with her arms as she glared at him over her shoulder, revealing her newly developed ass to him by unintentional default.

She could see his emerald eyes watching her but not leering. His gaze never left hers, and without thinking she slowly let her arms fall to her side as if obeying a silent command. It was not anything Fenris had not seen before, and as she recalled when she had woken up, was not something he seemed tempted by any longer. There was no reason to hide from him, no need to feel shame that she was not the beguiling siren of her dreams. She calmly rotated to face him straight on, but if he was surprised, he did not reveal it. She tilted her head to the side and held his eyes with her own, determined to find strength against her quickening pulse. She would need to apologize, but this seemed an awkward start to the conversation. She needed to bring closure and perhaps doing so while physically exposed would humble her in his eyes.

The sun sat happily in the sky overhead and its beams filtered down warming her against the spray from the sea's waves. Her pale skin glistened in the light, and the scars of countless battles peeked out from their usually concealed spaces. Her eyes were bright and made bluer by the reflection of her surroundings. She was beautiful, many thought so, but she had always considered herself more of an acquired taste. A sudden breeze whipped around the cave opening and caught her unprepared. Her hair, only hanging up by its own will, fell down her back at the insistence of the breeze. She let her eyes drop to her shoulder where her red ribbon lay, having gladly abandoned its duty. She casually reached for it and noticed that the breeze had affected more than just her hair. Her full breasts were now hosting taut nipples and a flush on her skin. Slowly she pulled the ribbon down letting it slide against her chest, crest over one breast and then free fall until it suspended from her fingers. The smooth, cool silk of the ribbon as it snaked along her skin helped calm her nerves and focus her thoughts.

Steadily she raised her eyes to his once more, his arms had relaxed in their fold and were now in danger of falling to his sides completely. Hawke took this as a sign that perhaps she had not hurt or angered him at all, maybe that too was something of which she was longer capable. He was not one to hide his disdain or displeasure, and if none expressed in his demeanor than apathy must have taken their place. With apprehension she took a step closer to him, trying to appear just as apathetic and as much as possible like the siren she wanted to be. His eyes darted to her feet, registering her movement, but he made no gesture of his own before returning his eyes to hers. He had not turned away or glared at her, and the knowledge gave her a measure of confidence as she took one slow and steady step after another letting her hips sway with each advance until only the faintest gap of space remained between them.

She held his stare as she moved and noted that he never let his fall. She paused on the edge of him as her heart raced at the closeness. She let her breath steady before she raised her hand to his toned bicep. She let her fingers hover just off his skin, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him and the tickle of fine hair without making contact. She held him in her eyes a moment longer before lowering them slightly, now looking up at him through her eyelashes. Finding no desire, anger, or admiration, she accepted her conclusion of his indifference. Her fantasy was over; her hope dried up, she was now truly and utterly alone; she needed to say goodbye.

"I'm sorry," she whispered more breathily than she had intended.

She was at a loss as to what else to say. She knew she should be as descriptive and detailed in her remorse as she had been in her anger, but as she made to speak, it all seemed pointless. Fenris knew everything she would have kept secret, knew everything that she had felt, thought, and remembered, but it had changed nothing. There was nothing more she could do. Seeing that he made no inclination to move or respond, she bit her lip in acknowledgment and lowered her hand. Her previous drive to remain in the cave bolted from her with jarring speed, and as she made to turn back to it, she considered her options as despair accompanied her movements and whispered in her ear.

There was space between her and where the outcropping met the cliff, it told her in hushed tones. Space enough to take a running leap and breathe in the freedom of ephemeral flight. She considered for a moment if she would have the luck to fly beyond the jagged rocks and crash into the cold of the waves rather than the Fade. She decided it would not matter as she would drown soon enough in the surge of the sea against the cliff. Her mind reeled with the possible consequences but also the rewards of her death. She had been on the cusp so many times in battle but had never once considered that outcome. Her friends would have to fend for themselves but how bad was that? They had all betrayed her at one time or another to varying degrees of finality. She had both the physical and emotional scars to prove it. The latest, from the Arishok's blade, ran almost the full length across her abdomen; Isabella's contribution Hawke noted.

She stopped and stood in the path letting everything wither around her. She no longer felt the tenderness of the sun; its brightness dimmed in her eyes. The smell of the sea became empty and the breeze of the air stilled. The fine grit of the sand no longer scratched her feet, and the sound of waves rolled into silence. Time seemed to stop altogether as she scrutinized the imagery her thoughts brought forth. Bodahn would be leaving with Sandal for Orlais despite what she did or said; he would probably offer to take Orana with him. Varric would miss the profit from her stories but would soon find another muse to inspire him. Aveline had Donnic and the city guard, her life in Kirkwall had been so much easier, Hawke thought mournfully. Sebastian would either take his place at Starkhaven or hide in the Chantry, neither of which required her assistance. Merrill would be glad to finally claim the Arulin'Holm and continue her quest to repair the Eluvian. Anders had Justice and his constant fight for mage rights. Hawke new of his infatuation for her but had never encouraged it; she might be desperate but not enough to attach herself to a possible abomination.

She had just about made up her mind when a new feeling called out to her in a whisper. It reminded her of the weakness of her thoughts and the cowardice of the leap. It would be better to rise above them all, stronger than before, showing them that she did not need or want their help. She was the Maker damned Champion, and they could all rot in her wake. She owed nothing to these people or Kirkwall. She could start fresh, recreate her cave someplace else. She lifted her head and turned it to the sea as she welcomed this new confidence and bravado into her heart. As she did, the sights and smells of the coast came racing back to her. The sun's beams were now vivid hues of gold and wheat. She could smell the varieties of fish and seaweed lapping against the rocks below the cliff. She preferred this option, and with a sizeable rise in her chest, she shifted her weight in the sand as a plan began to form in her mind. She would leave, her friends would be fine, and maybe later, if curiosity got the better of her, she would reach out to catch up on their adventures.

With eagerness, she stepped into the cave and quickly assessed what she wanted to bring. She knew that if something was vital, she best grab it now. Her eyes scanned the space, and mentally she evaluated each item therein. Keep, toss, leave, destroy, a mantra formed in her mind. The journals she would shred and add to the fire, it did not matter what memories they held, she would make new ones. The quills and ink could be left; she would not need them. Likewise, the food and wine - she would restock as she traveled. The linens, blankets, and furs would all remain, but that was no loss, she had enough money to buy supplies as she went. Hawke decided she did not need to bring anything with her after all; it was all connected to the past from which she planned to escape.

With a flick of her toes and a kick upwards she tossed herself her underclothes and returned them to their proper place on her body. As she reached for the tunic and shook the sand from it, she contemplated her armor and decided that it would be the only thing she would allow herself to keep, that and the weapons of course - she might need those. She would remake herself into a rogue and prowl the continents as a nomad. Perchance Zevran could use a partner and would let her apprentice as an assassin; she would need to find him first, of course. She dressed quickly and then sat on the pallet to lace up her boots. With each finger twirl and loop of the laces, she delved deeper into thought and formulation of her exit. She had completely forgotten Fenris was even there until he spoke.

"What are you doing?" he said as he stood at the cave entrance. His voice was soft and warm, without a hint of irritation or sentiment.

"I'm leaving," Hawke replied without hesitation. Finishing the last of one boot's laces, she reached for the other and extended her leg out with a pointed toe to slip into the confines easier.

"Hawke," Fenris began to say, but she interrupted.

"You brought supplies and had plans to enjoy yourself, keep those plans. Just do me a favor when you're done: burn my journals."

She was pleased with herself in her ability to control her tone and convey the lack of concern she felt. She did not look up to see his expression but could tell he remained in place, silent. Once she finished lacing the second boot, she stood and crossed to the table with her back to him as she began securing her weapons. She was busy tucking and concealing her smaller blades when Fenris appeared beside her and held out his hand to pass her the ribbon she had let fall at some point. Her hair was wild and still flowed freely down her neck, grazing her shoulder blades with its silky ends. She cocked her head to the side and thought for a moment before running her fingers through her hair from her temple backward.

"No thanks, I like the feel of this better," she told him, referring to her raven locks and the swirl they made against her in response to the wind. She turned around, purposely rotating the opposite direction of Fenris, and headed out of the cave.

"Hawke!" Fenris called after her, but she did not stop.

She did not want to acknowledge the flutter of her heart when he had stepped close to her, the catch of her breath when he said her name. For all the love she felt for him, it was useless, and turning to face him would crumble the small measure of resolve that she had mustered. Each step towards the cliff face became easier than the last. There were not that many steps from the cave opening to the approach, but each felt like the release she had hoped to find; the trip had not been a waste, after all, just another unexpected twist in her journey. As she brought her foot up to the first of the holds and reached for the start of the various grasps, Fenris hand came up to her and grabbed her outstretched arm at the elbow. She froze in surprise. He had not purposefully touched her in three years and now made no gesture to remove his hand. Hawke remained immobile in climb ready position. Eventually, she let her eyes look down to his exposed hand before slowly rising to his face in her peripheral view.

"Please, Hawke..." he implored as he put subtle pressure on her arm in an attempt to encourage her to step down.

She did not need to see the green of his eyes to know there was emotion welling up within them. If there had been apathy there before, his voice betrayed it now. She let out a sigh and dropped her foot back down to the landing, letting his hand glide up to hers, as she lowered herself.

"... do not leave, not yet," he whispered into her hand.

At those words, Fenris brought his other hand to encapsulate her fingers. She was now bewildered and intrigued, observing every feature as she turned to face him. Hawke's world began to spin as he raised his eyes to hers and looked at her as though his world was crashing. He stepped back, pulling her hand with his and slowly, carefully, walked backward, refusing to drop her hand or her eyes as she awkwardly made to follow. Hawke was captivated by his movements, searching his face for the smallest hint of his intentions. Where had this reaction been when she arrived; when she screamed; when she stood before him naked and vulnerable. Each return stride flashed memories of his charming smirk, his stifled laughs, the deep guttural moan that escaped his lips when he had kissed her so long ago. She tried to remind herself that she was beyond all this, that she was not tied to him any longer, that she was stronger than her desire, but as the light gleamed in his eyes and their softness beckoned her onward, she could do no more than follow.

Once at the cave entrance, he turned his body, only releasing one of his hands from his hold of her as necessary, but refusing to relinquish his gaze. She did not fight him, too fascinated by the mystery of his sudden shift in behavior. He led her into the cave and then gestured for her to sit, holding her hand the whole while as a gentleman providing a lady a seat. As she sat on the pallet again, confused, Fenris slowly released her hand one finger at a time until he stood far enough away that only the tip of his index finger touched hers. He held her eyes in his until at last he turned and walked over to the wine he brought and uncorked the first bottle. She could not handle this right now and clenched her jaw in an attempt to replenish any resolve she had.

He had not brought goblets, preferring to drink straight from the bottle, and she let herself admired the length of his form as he took a swig before passing it to her. Hawke hesitated, watching him, searching his expression for any sign that he realized how little it took to turn her into putty in his hands, until he once again tipped the bottle towards her, indicating she too should drink. Apparently, he had things to say, and she would need to compose herself for the return volley. She took the wine from him and slowly raised it to her lips, hoping that she would not taste him on the rim; that would be a step too far. He observed her trepidation and nodded his encouragement. She pressed her mouth to the opening and let a healthy sample of the dry red wine with subtle floral tones flood her mouth without averting her eyes from his - Agreggio Pavali.


	3. Fair Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions speak louder than words, or so they say. Hawke is not as sure; she wants to hear Fenris voice.

Seemingly satisfied with Hawke's drink, Fenris turned back to the basket of food he brought and prepared a selection for them. Relieved at the brief intermission his back afforded her, she took another quick sip before rolling her shoulders forward, resting her elbows on her thighs and letting the bottle hang from her hands between them. It was then she noticed her heart was racing and her breath was shallow. It was not too late to leave; she could run just as he had. Her eyes roved over the sandy floor, evaluating the larger specks of dirt and splinters of wood, as she tried to anticipate what would happen when she raised her head. Her stomach coiled tightly, and she felt a sick rise in her throat, she wanted to let her eyes roll back and pass out on the pallet. Maybe if she fell asleep again, he would take the hint and leave. Then, suddenly as if being bolstered by an unseen spirit, a moment of strength returned to her.

The little voice from earlier told her if Fenris wanted to unleash his anger then fine, she would endure for a time, but it was all his fault, and she would not let him forget it. She could not let him have the upper hand. With a sharp inhale she raised her head expecting to find his back still turned to her so she could evaluate his response further, but instead, she saw his head tilted and eyes raised in silent question. He was crouched before her at eye level, balanced on the balls of his bare feet, holding a plate of fruit and cheese in front of him. She could not prevent the slight jump she felt as she discovered him there, his face inches from hers. Oh, Maker! How long had he been there before she noticed? Her attempt at composure was not going well, and she wanted to curl into a ball of embarrassment. She could not project strength if she kept getting lost in thought and the soft plump of his bottom lip. She bit hers instinctively as her eyes darted away, abruptly finding the steady fire on the far side of the cave compelling. She heard him stifle a chuckle as he shifted his weight and sat on the floor in front of her with one leg bent under the bridge created by the other; he already had the upper hand.

She let her eyes follow his muscular form as he sat the plate down to her side; he had left no room between them for anything other than their breath. His free arm rested on his raised knee at the elbow, and the position left his forearm dangling just off the front edge of her corresponding knee; she could feel the warmth of him there, and it made her shudder. She watched as he, with the other hand, delicately lifted a piece of fruit between his fingers and brought it to her, stopping just in front of her lips. She took a deep inhale through her nose, and the smell of the fresh berry mingled with the richness of the wine she still held. He had procured all of her favorites she noticed, and the thought brought one corner of her mouth higher than the other. The timing of his arrival could not be a coincidence, and neither was his selection of wine and food. A ripple of warmth spread over her on the realization that this, the fresh supplies, the fire, was all for her. It was still confusing but somehow comforting.

With a sigh of acceptance, she extended her arm the short distance needed to set the bottle on the floor between her feet, her eyes flowed down in her action, taking notice of his chiseled chest, the white of the lyrium tattoos glistening against the fire light. When she reached up to take the berry from him, she paused as she brought her hand close to his, unsure how best to take his offering without touching him. Her uncertainty must have broadcast across her face because he closed the distance between their fingers until the berry nudged at her tips. Grudgingly she grasped it and brought it to her mouth. His eyes focused on hers as she slowly pushed the berry between her lips and the intensity of his gaze, amplified by his proximity, made her squirm in her seat. Desperate for relief she looked at his chin and traced the lyrium line with her eyes as she began to chew the tender fruit.

He did not turn his head as he made to grab for another piece, this time a slice of cheese, presumably from Orlais. Hawke considered for a moment how much coin he spent to gather these supplies and how, in the maker, he had managed to bring it all here. Further thoughts on the matter were interrupted as he again brought food to her mouth without saying a word. As she raised her eyes to meet his, it occurred to her that he had not said anything since he stopped her climb. She knew him well enough to know that was not unusual but she had expected him to say something, at some point. As she finished the berry in her mouth and let its sweetness glide down her throat, she decided she would not speak until he did. She had already had plenty to say, and if he wanted to sit in silence, then she would oblige. She nodded to him, to indicate he should take the cheese instead and still, without shifting his eyes from hers, Fenris took the whole piece in his mouth letting the tip of his tongue faintly lick his finger before he chewed. Hawke could feel the chill surge up her spine as he did so and she made every effort to keep her eyes from going wide as a result.

Her mouth felt suddenly dry as she tried to swallow the lingering juice in her mouth and debated reaching for the wine. She did not want to drink too much or reveal how nervous she still felt under his acute attention by grabbing for the bottle after that display. As if reading her mind, Fenris let his eyes drop from hers as he reached for it. She took a deep calming breath but stopped before she could take another; the knuckles of his hand brushed against the side of her ankle just above the rotating joint as he made to grip the bottle. Her mind raced in reaction, and it took all her strength not to look down. The touch had to have been intentional; her feet were a foot apart, and the area between the wine and her leg afforded plenty of space without forcing contact.

As she made considerable effort to keep her breath even, the idea that he was purposefully tormenting her flashed in her mind. Was this his idea of punishing her? Toying with her emotions by demonstrating tenderness and care, pulling her in, before leaving her numb again. She agreed that she probably deserved some rebuke for her words, not all had been fair or right, but this was beyond fair play. Her brow furrowed as she watched him take a sip of the wine. She did not like this new feeling; she had never, not trusted him. He had always been there in battle and had remained a good friend. He had come to her when her mother died, offering comfort rather than platitudes. She had only known him to lie once, to Hadriana, before he took her life; she could not very well hold that against him as she had wanted to do so much more to that vile wretch.

Hawke's thoughts were having difficulty gaining clarity in the proximity to her walking embodiment of weakness. What would she give to have their roles reversed, to see him become a fumbling mess in the shadow of her confidence? She was sure that her heart would give out any moment if it continued to flip flop with such inconsistency in feeling and attitude. She would have liked to stand and get some space, but he all but had her cornered. She would either kick him or trample the food, or both if she tried to stand. If she could not go up and forward would mean sitting in his lap, then she would have to go back. She let her fingers crawl across the fur of the pallet behind her, mentally assessing the distance from her back to the wall. It was farther than she could reach which meant she would have enough leeway to slide her legs up as she scooted back, without hitting Fenris or the food. Before he could lower the bottle, Hawke made her move, and by the time his hand dropped to his bent knee, she had increased the distance between them ten fold.

If he were going to play with her, then she would do the same to him. She refused to give in to her desire for him knowing that it would only compound the heartache she had sought to release, and she certainly was not intentionally going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard she had to fight it. Fenris gave no indication that her sudden move bothered him, and internally, she cursed his composure. He just put the wine down in the space where her feet had been and looked up at her as he reached for the food plate. With her back firmly against the cave wall, she pulled her legs together and wrapped them under her to the side, her heels putting slight pressure on her ass as she remained upright. Having picked up his offering, he set it down on the pallet in front her, and she breathed easier for it. At least now there was something in between them, and the thought became an anchor for her. If he could not tease her with his movements, then he would have to give voice to his intentions.

Hawke, pleased with herself and the feeling that she had taken back a measure of control, reached for a piece of cheese with as much poise and femininity as she could summon. She now realized she was starving and debated whether she should just grab the plate and the wine and refuse to share further. At least then he would have no fodder for his little games. As she chewed another piece of fruit, Fenris did the same, apparently content with her new arrangement. After a few more bites, she leaned forward to reach for the bottle, but he snatched it away and took a swig himself, leaving her arm outstretched as she leaned over the food, balancing on the edge of her knee and one hand for support. Was that his response to her move? Had it bothered him after all? She was not sure what to believe anymore nor was she was aware of the view her stalled movement offered until she saw his eyes dart to her breasts. That reaction was more telling than he would have liked she was sure.

The whispered voice returned to her, reminding her she could trust her instincts, and that she was stronger than she remembered, then it encouraged her to be patient just a while longer and to enjoy herself in the interim. With a smirk, she rolled her shoulders forward slightly to bring her breasts closer together and enhance their fullness. She watched as he swallowed hard, forgetting himself momentarily in the shape of her. She remained in that posture, letting him soak her in for a bit longer before she turned her palm upright and slightly pulsed curled fingers to indicate she wanted him to share. He wiped his mouth with the back of the hand that gripped the neck of the bottle, and she saw a spark of fire glint in his eyes as he passed it to her. Without returning to her seated position, she took the bottle from him and threw her head back to take a drink, arching her back and thrusting her chest forward as she did. She could not see his face from this angle, but the thought of it made her chuckle.

Her small smile broke the seal her mouth had around the rim of the bottle, letting a dribble of the wine flow down her chin, cling to her jaw and caress down her neck before running out of momentum at her collarbone. She did not attempt to wipe it away as she lowered the bottle and her head slowly to search for his reaction. No small part of her did not want to see him squirm in return.She was pleased when she saw that Fenris had shifted in his seat and now sat with both legs underneath him, his hands pressed firmly into his knees. Still leaning over the food, she let her body bend to one side as she extended her arm to set the bottle on the floor. As she came upright again, he reached for her with delicate fingers, intending to wipe away the wine before it stained her skin. Realizing this but not wanting to allow him to touch her until he spoke, she quickly pulled back to her perch against the wall.

With a wicked smile, she took her index finger and starting at her collarbone, traced the wine trail up to her mouth, finishing with a flick of her tongue and a twirl on the tip of her finger. She would have bet the entirety of her estate that she heard him make a desperate attempt to stifle a deep growl in response. It felt good to see his reactions to her, to feel that she was not alone in her attraction. Whatever measure of control he had exerted when she stood naked before him earlier was withering away now, and the thought reinforced her growing confidence and strength. Just a bit more and he would be forced to speak, and she would finally know what he was thinking and, if anything, what he wanted. As she took another piece of fruit from the tray, she let her eyes swim in the green shades of his. She noted their softness and admired their strength.

Those eyes had seen so much that was wrong with the world but yet still had hope for better days. It was that balance of strength and hope that made her love him, and as the thought rolled in her mind, she had a realization. She did not need to feel shame, timidity, or weakness with him. She loved him, and whether he would accept it or not, was beyond her control, and it did not require her constant care or worry. He was free to choose his life, and he had opted to stay by her, it no longer mattered why. She took a breath and let it leave her on a slight sigh as she smiled broadly at him.She saw his eyes flash for a moment in surprise at her smile, knowing he had not seen such an unbridled expression since she could not remember when. He relaxed and smiled back at her. She was satisfied to sit there, to smile and stare at him for as long as he would allow, he seemed to be content to do the same. As the moments passed, her mind finally rested, no longer swimming, reeling, worrying.

She was not concerned about the silence between them; it was comfortable. She was happy to watch his eyes shift in the flicker of the light from outside as the sun passed between clouds. The world around her melted again but it did not wither. Instead, she was focused on him, keenly aware of every slight movement or twitch. She watched his chest expand and contract with his breathing. She saw as his ears quivered in response to a lark's call from above the waves. She noticed the faint hum of his lyrium that she never realized was ever present. Sitting across from him, sharing but not speaking - it was enough for her. A gift from the Maker, she decided, as she felt the last of her grief, regret, and fear lift from her body with a soft goodbye. The voice of strength that had kept her going now retreated, unneeded, and she felt her eyes well up with gratefulness for its compassion. She wanted to thank it but instead licked the spot on her lips where the impulse perched, as if to kiss it in parting before it would take flight, leaving her whole for the first time.

She knew Fenris could sense the change in her demeanor, he knew her so well, but she refused to speak an explanation. She needed to hear his voice and thoughts; hers were obvious she felt. As she raised her eyes and dipped her head to him, prodding him to speak, he took another long swig of the wine, bracing himself for what was to come. Without warning he swiftly stood in place, bottle gripped tightly in one hand as the other swept his choppy white hair back over his head, out of his face. He had shut his eyes tightly, and the muscles of his body flexed in tension. Hawke felt a gasp escape her in response as she was now eye level with his hips. His black leggings sat low, and she could see the line of his muscles where his abdomen met his pelvis as it dipped behind the laces of his pants. The memory of Isabella constantly trying to guess the color of his underclothes, mingled happily with the memory that Hawke knew he did not wear any. The erotic thought of what little separated her from him was so distracting that it startled her when his hips turned; he was pacing the floor.

She quietly observed him as he walked back and forth from the fire at the entrance to the cave to the back wall near the table. She could tell it was his turn to be deep in thought and she did not intend to interrupt him, though she was disappointed he had taken the wine away.  With a shrug, she took the opportunity to finish the rest of the food and then return the tray to the floor. He was still pacing, eyes held shut, grip so hard on the neck of the wine she was sure it would burst. Feeling a cramp in her leg from sitting in one position too long, she steadily released them one at a time, letting them fully extend along the length of the pallet. She kept her movements as quiet and unassuming as possible, lest she disturbs whatever contemplation kept Fenris's feet plodding a worn path in the cave.

She let her legs stretch straight out in front of her before bringing them into a crossed position as she shifted her hips to turn towards him. She let her shoulders sag, and her arms join in a lazy hold in her lap. Her ear touched her shoulder as she let her head hang to one side while she waited. With her thoughts now calm, Hawke quickly grew bored watching him continue to pace without relief. For want of a distraction, she began to remove her gauntlets, and her lips pursed together and shifted to one side of her face as she considered how much longer his contemplation would last.She rolled her eyes as she mouthed his nickname slightly: Broody. He bore it well, and the thought came to her that this could take days if she did not do something. She turned her head to the entrance of the cave and could see the sun's light now bore a shallow angle on the cave walls; a few more hours and the princely moon would return. She continued to consider her options as a humming tune sounded in her throat.

A Fereldan lullaby her father had often sung to her when she was a child. She did not know the words, and the tune only lasted a few bars, but it was easy to repeat mindlessly. By her fourth refrain, the hum had grown in volume and now danced on her tongue as a song. Fenris paced slowed as the sound of her husky voice carried to his ears, reminding him he was not alone. Her gaze remained on the fair sea, but she could tell he was turning to face her as she continued to sing. In her peripheral view she could see him walking over to her, but unsure if he was finished brooding, she did not turn to look. Finally, she felt the pallet shift behind her from his weight as he sat next to her. She did not stop singing until he placed his hand in the crook of her arm for the second time that day. She turned her head to him as the last of the lullaby stilted in a whisper between them. He was again inches from her and would take only the slightest dip for her forehead to touch his. The pause that followed was almost unbearable.

She could hear his quick breathing, whether from the walking or his thoughts she knew not, but hers quickly joined his rhythm as he began to trace the outline of her hand with his finger. A touch that was so light it barely registered but still had the power to send flames to her core.  Her resolve to force his voice before allowing his touch evaporated as he cautiously moved over each of her knuckles. One by one, he caressed her fingers with the calloused tip of his, never breaking contact as he glided across the back of her hand. The swirling pattern of his finger was intoxicating, and she began to regret drinking any of the wine as her head now felt pleasurably laden. She let if waiver as it rolled in place and her eyes closed on the feeling.

She briefly noticed when her hand lifted and turned as Fenris let his finger now drift along her palm. Each line of her hand, a path with his finger to follow and connect to the next. Painstakingly slow he mapped her palm searing each crevice and callous into his memory. She opened her eyes again as his finger moved along the vein at her wrist. She was sure he could feel her pulse throbbing beneath its pink sheath as he paused and let the tip of his finger make tiny circles in place. His eyes fixed on his movement; she could only see the tender wisps of his soft hair. She longed to run her free hand through it and feel it fall between her fingers. She wanted to grab it in her fist and pull it back so his eyes would meet hers again. The thought made her gasp as she remembered their first kiss. She had grabbed his elbow just as he had grabbed hers today and pulled to prevent him from walking away. His response had been swift and fierce, slamming her up against the wall. The thrill she had felt instead of fear whirled in her pelvis and sent sparks to her fingers as she impulsively dived for his lips.

She licked hers now at the memory trying to taste him there still; his finger now followed her vein along the inside of her forearm. She wanted to cry out his name and bit her lip to stop herself as his finger began to slide back and forth along the fold of the inside of her arm at the elbow. Her legs felt weak, and she was glad to be sitting but was unsure how much more she could take before she collapsed from the euphoria of his touch. She felt confident that he was aware the effect his touch had on her and the blissful agony it created within, but he did not seem to care as he let his finger slither up the front edge of her upper arm. Her breath was heavy and escaping her open mouth in puffs as her body heaved with the effort.

Any moment now he would raise his head to hers, and she would lock her sapphire eyes to his emerald. She wanted to curse at the knowledge that she would likely be too weak to withstand the proximity of her lips to his. With each tantalizing inch his finger crept up her arm towards her shoulder, she could feel her heart beat in time. Her eyes fluttered as she failed to decide if it was better to keep the open or tightly closed. As his finger began the last slow ascent up to the curve of her shoulder, she shook her head and decided firmly shut was a much better option; she could not be tempted by what she could not see. Her bottom lip was now firmly held in her mouth by her top row of teeth, and any further pressure would bring blood. She resigned herself that she would have a bleeding and swollen lip on her return to Kirkwall.

She felt his hot breath on her shoulder and knew he had finally lifted his head, but she could not allow herself to peek. His finger remained on her skin but seemed to float along the start of her collarbone. She could imagine hunger growing in his beautiful mossy green eyes, and the lyrium beginning to faintly glow a sky blue at the pleasure he took in tormenting her desire. Soon, she told herself. If she could hold out a few moments longer, his sonorous voice would call to her, signaling her release and she could let out a shuddered breath as her satisfaction washed over her. Her breastplate now felt unnecessarily restrictive, and she was glad that she had chosen to forgo the leggings, a fact she now realized she had forgotten when she had sat down on the pallet.

Her mind now slammed forward through the haze of indulgence as she considered the unwitting view she must have offered him when she first sat down. The small clothes she wore that day were exactly that, a pair that barely lived up to its purpose and she hoped that her tunic was more of a skirt that her memory suggested. Not that it mattered after she had pranced around stark naked but still. Abruptly her thoughts stopped as she became aware of his finger gliding from her collarbone up the side of her neck, following the fragile valley between her windpipe and her large vein. She could feel his breath on her jaw as his nose brushed her cheek. Following the feeling, she sensed his finger moving further up her neck then rotate under her jaw as it delicately scraped along the ridge to her chin. Her head turned to his in involuntary response to his touch, but she kept her eyes closed with her lip tucked in her mouth. His finger now rested on one side of her chin as his thumb moved in place opposite.

"Hawke," he breathed against her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squeee! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned, because the cliffhanger is well worth the wait.


	4. Linguistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finally tells Hawke all she needs to hear, but Hawke has a secret to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevene lovers - I have a present for you!

His voice, even in a whisper, ran through Hawke like the shuddering strike of a dwarven hammer on the hot metal of an anvil. It was rich and guttural, with a throaty timbre. The sound traveled from her ear to her core and then branched out like fireworks into her veins until every part of her throbbed. Her seat felt dewy as her skin's intensity danced between the heat of the fire and the cool of the sea. She clenched her thighs and felt her back curl as a wave of deliverance rushed over her, escaping on her breath as her mouth fell open. The metallic taste of blood in her lip brought her back into sharp focus, cutting off her ecstasy prematurely and she flung her eyes wide open.

The rapidity with which she uncrossed her legs, threw herself forward and crossed the floor of the cave was just as much a shock to her as it was to Fenris. He now sat askew on the pallet, half sitting, half leaning; she had pushed against him for leverage to propel her flight. The powerful voice that accompanied her swift rise and shouted, "No!" further astonished them both. She had not even realized it was coming from her; she had only felt the need to stop what she was feeling, to gain the upper hand, to reconstruct her resolve against him. Her hands flew up to her face, and she buried herself in them until they felt damp from fresh tears. She did not want to turn around but knew she had to say something. Lingering with her back to him, she collected her breath and wiped away the tears as subtly as possible; she did not want him to see her cry.

It had taken a moment before she was ready to face him. To his credit, he had not stirred other than to adjust his seat and observe her patiently. When finally she was prepared, she gradually turned to face him, her hands cupping her cheeks to hide the tear streaks and her fear. After a few breaths, she opened her eyes to find his searching hers with care and concern. She dropped her head as she spoke, pulling every morsel of strength she could find to give weight to her voice so it would not die on her tongue.

"I can't do this again," she said hauntingly. She let the words pierce the air and hang for a few seconds before she continued, "You left me...hanging, and just as I am finding my feet again, you...you seem ready to pull the floor from underneath me." Each word came easier to her and stronger than its predecessor. "I am not a toy to play with when you're bored, Fenris."

She punctuated his name as she raised her head to look him in the eye. The impact was intense, and she could see he reacted as though she had plunged a knife into his side. The sight did not bring her satisfaction necessarily, but it did give her faith, that he had cared about her once and seemed to still. There was a prolonged interlude when neither spoke. The stillness settled like a fog in the cave, creeping on to every surface, threatening to choke the fire. Hawke held his gaze as she breathed in rhythm to the sound of the waves cresting outside.

Finally, he moved, letting his legs come in front of him to the floor as he sat upright on the pallet. He was graceful for a warrior, and his long limbs spread like branches from a mighty Vhenadahl. It was his turn to let the sand shift between his toes as they regarded each other. She watched as he brought his arms to rest on his thighs and his hands grasped together, pulling and fidgeting at the joints. He was ready to speak, and she to listen. She had been ready for a long time and now that she could see the words forming on his lips her body tensed in the agony of anticipation. The words came haltingly at first in a voice that sounded broken and raw; the smooth honey tone was gone and replaced with a wasp and a croak.

"I did not..." he started and stopped, adjusting the catch in his voice. “I only meant t..." again he paused.

She could see his frustration as he continued to wring his hands and let his eyes focus on them. She wanted to encourage him, but could not bring herself to make a sound, so she stood - waiting. Waiting for words she had needed to hear for three years. The suspense made a lump in her throat, and it took an effort to swallow it down. She did not give care to the consequences of what he might say; she just wanted an answer. Right or wrong, she would take it all if it meant finding a way forward, with or without him.

"We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago." His words came decisively, cutting the air like a swing from his blade, and she found herself admiring his composure as he looked up at her. His eyes were searching hers for an invitation to open the subject for discussion.

She let her foot roll on the edge of her toes out from her ankle as her knee bent inward, her fingers picking at each other in nervousness. "You didn't seem to want to talk about it..." she said as she let out a heavy breath, "and I didn't want to..." she let the last drop off as she tilted her head down and looked at the floor.

"Didn't want to...what?" he asked, almost begging her to continue.

"I didn't want to push you," she stated sounding more cross than she had intended. Not wanting to leave those words and that tone in the air she continued, correcting herself with a soothing tone, "You had already left my bed and...I didn't want you to leave my side as well."

"I would never leave your side, Hawke." Fenris offered as he stood up from the pallet, his hands falling to his side, palms open to her.

"Yeah, well, we see where that got us." The words tumbled from her lips before she could catch them and she flinched in anticipation of his reaction. She had not intended to be callous and certainly did not want to end the conversation abruptly.

"Fasta Vass! Beivae stulta."

His words rang like Chantry bells in her ears, and she had to lift her head to ensure they emanated from him. Her brow creased as she puzzled over his statement and her eyes squinted in confusion.

"I...I thought it would be better if you hated me, I deserved no less," he offered to solve her query.

"Fenris, I don't hate you," each word punctuated as she spoke. "I don't understand you...or...this," she gestured between them, "but I have never hated you. I was just hurt."

"Earlier you said..." he started before she interrupted.

"Oh, Maker help us! Do not bring up that mortifying outburst. I'm not even sure what all I said." She shortened the distance between them as she spoke as her demeanor became suddenly animated. She saw him laugh to himself and stalled her advance, leaving a meter of space between them.

"You said a lot of things," he smirked at her, "but nothing that I did not deserve." His smirk fell with his chin as he looked at her through the strands of hair now covering his face.

"What?" she asked with sincere ignorance.

"I was scared, too wrapped up in fear and hatred to acknowledge what I felt. I thought that I would only be free once Denarius was dead, and until then, if ever, I had nothing to offer you," his words sounded clinical and detached but yet filled with meaning.

"What you felt?" she asked hopefully, as she sought understanding in his eyes, hidden behind the snow of his hair.

"That night...," he closed the distance between them as he reached for her hand, slowly, seeking permission first.

She gave him a slight nod, and with a sharp inhale she felt his tender touch on her hand again. He did not caress it this time, just holding it loosely as he came to face her.

"...I remember your touch as if it were yesterday," his voice now a whisper between them. His head slanted to the side and down, eyes on their joined hands as he spoke. "I should have asked forgiveness long ago...I hope you can forgive me now."

Fenris's eyes remained downcast on their hands as she contemplated his request. Three years of unnecessary anguish, awkwardness, and uncertainty had seemed like a lot to forgive in the early hours of that morning, but now, as she considered how new all of it must have been for him, forgiveness was not such a large request. This tortured soul, this ex-slave with no memories, how could she expect him to deal with changing emotions and benevolent relationships when all he had known was the pain of a Magister, pain seared into him as a living reminder. He had been free only a few months when they met, and maybe a year or so when they slept together.

If she were honest with herself, he made a lot of progress in a short amount of time and his broodiness was entirely justified. Perhaps she had been unfair to him, asking for too much too fast. Was three years too much of a price to allow him the space he needed to adjust? She sighed at the thought that she had been selfish. So concerned with her feelings and desires, she had failed to acknowledge his torment. Her assumptions and insecurity blinded her to the truth of what he thought, felt, and wanted. He had tried to tell her, in the only way he could, by wearing her favor and house crest. A tear dropped from her eye on to the bright red of the ribbon secured to his wrist as she took her free hand and ran her fingers along its folds.

Every day, in a thousand ways, he had told her how he felt, she just did not see. Always ready to accompany her on a task, charging ahead of her to taunt the enemy so she would not face the brunt of the battle, at her side in a flash if she faltered. He carried extra potions though rarely used any, always thinking of her and her needs. He was opinionated about mages but had still supported her decisions and protected Bethany from discovery. He had been honest about his past and the brutality he both suffered and inflicted. He had not hidden anything from her, only growing quiet when he was unsure of what to do or say. There was always a seat next to him at the Hanged Man and an escort back to Hightown after a night of drinking and games. He had trusted her to teach him to read, eager to learn all she had to offer.

She knew that he often kept vigil on her windowsill, she arranged for the trellis to be reinforced and purposefully let the shutters unlatched after the first time she saw him there when she stirred in her sleep. She harbored hope that he would come each night and find the strength to join her again. On mornings when the shutters were still closed, she felt disappointed and convinced herself that he was only acting as a bodyguard to secure her help when he would call. With a sniffle and pang of the formation of another tear, she leaned her forehead against his.

"I need to understand why you left Fenris," her words floating on soft breath against his cheek.

At that, he dropped her hand and brought his up to cup her face as he lifted both of their heads, careful to keep their foreheads touching. She could see his chest rising with his quickened breath as she looked down past their noses. The palms of his hands were warm on her cheeks, each callous a reminder of his affection, and he endured them for her. His long fingers extended into her fine hair, pushing it away from her face. He paused before he spoke, letting their breath rise in sync. Hawke could feel his fingers press into her scalp, holding her for support and preventing her flight. She could feel his hesitancy and braced herself, suddenly unsure she wanted to hear his response. She had imagined what it would be each time she recounted their evening, but as she stood on the precipice of it now, uncertainty and fear threatened to steal the sweetness of the moment.

"I've thought about the answer a thousand times; the pain, the memories it brought up it, was too much. I was a coward. If I could go back I would stay, tell you how I felt."

The words flowed like a waterfall from Fenris's lips. She wanted to stand there basking in it for as long as possible. She wanted to bathe in his words and let the syllables bead down her back as the heat of his breath caressed her, and the rumble of his voice anchored her to him. He was remarkable. He had seen so much of the world, and Hawke had been with him when he took a final step to complete his journey from the Northern Coast to the Southern. This unusual elf, taller than he should be, with his contrasting hair and eyes against olive skin, had her heart. For all his understanding of different cultures, languages, and political intrigue, he had become lost in her touch. They were a hopeless pair, and she had never been gladder for it. The brief reluctance she felt before his answer now vanished and a desperate surge to hear more took its place.

"What would you have said?" she timidly asked as she brought her hands to his chest.

She could feel the lines of his muscles underneath her and flattened her palms against him, letting her fingers crawl up to his collarbone. The pressure of her hold increased each time he took a breath, and she could feel his pulse quicken. He took a long steady breath pushing his chest out to brush against her forearms as he lifted his head from hers, pulling her up to meet his eyes.

"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into gladly at your side."

As he spoke, she could not recall ever seeing such a particular shade of green in the natural world. His eyes were a multi-faceted jewel, with a vibrancy to rival that of Andraste herself. She, who could inspire a lifetime of prayers but could never hope to inspire the devotion captured in his gaze; Hawke was his faith, her body his temple, and her love his salvation. She wanted to lose herself in his gaze, to take a running leap into his sea of green, willingly drowning herself in their embrace. Just the thought of him was breathtaking. She wanted to condense the impulses he caused to radiate from her into a potion that she could sample on cold nights when the fire of the hearth would not be enough to keep her warm. She would gladly have his heat supply her but that future was still unsure, she mused as she wound her fingers up the sides of his neck. His lyrium pulsed when she did so, and she immediately pulled back in response.

"What about your memories?" she asked sheepishly.

"They...were intense," he answered as he let his thumbs trace her cheekbones.

"Were? Have they gotten easier with time?" The pulsing blue light he emanated but did not attempt to quell reflected in her eyes enhancing the color already present. His fingers stilled as she spoke and he tilted his head slightly considering his answer.

"Not easier exactly, more like non-existent. I have not had a surge like that since I was with you."

"I'm sorry Fenris," she spoke without thinking and realized he did not like her response when he let his hands drop from her entirely. The rush of cold on her skin in his absence made her lurch.

"I do not require your pity." His words were biting and dismissive, and the blue glow disappeared.

She let a small laugh carry between them at his words in hopes to combat his turning mood.

"It's not pity; it's heartache. The thought of having nothing, then a morsel of something before it's snatched away again, is tortuous and I took part in that. You have fought so hard to be free and to heal from the pain that bastard caused; to know that I caused..." he cut her off before she could continue her thought.

"You are nothing like Denarius, and any pain you have caused me was unwitting at its worst." His hands grasped hers and held them against his body. "Do you feel this?" he pressed her palms against him. "This is my heart, my pain, my past, my future, and it beats for you." His voice was low and steady but forceful; his marking ignited again.

Hawke could not help herself as she looked into his eyes, felt the beat within him, and grasped at every word he spoke. She wanted to kiss him and return his affection until she could move no more, but as she parted her lips, a cry emerged, followed by a shower of tears. His declaration was overwhelming as it ran over the raw wounds of her heart. She recalled the feeling of being stitched back together by a healing spell after her battle with the Arishok. Her tears were involuntary, and she felt embarrassed at her inability to stopper them. He pushed her palms against his chest before wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace that brought their bodies fully against each other. Her head found the crook of his neck and shoulder, and she relaxed into his hold as the tears flowed. His lyrium, which at first had blinded her as she had her eyes just off his skin, now grew faint once more as they faded back to white while he cradled her in his arms. As he held her, he began to shift their weight from right to left in a gentle rock, his chin resting on her head.

"Amatus," he whispered softly to her. He had held her like this so many times and to have her in his embrace again sent a tremble through him.

"Si ora fedis umo tan fedicis,  
Ita fegesis tan avainte,  
Et quo fes es vi um, mundis aufretae,  
Pridem nosvae kusis vi nosvae viglis luno?" his words fell to her, and she caught a whimper in her throat. She loved it when he spoke Tevene. The way the words rippled off his tongue, and then halted on the change in consonants was like music to her.

"Ita fegesis in dies frigis,  
Videturae nos amatus u sole,  
Dies, qua nos -? sed beivae stulta,  
Praete in dies fet," he continued to recite to her in soft warm tones.

"Ita fegesis festis kare umo villus?," Hawke's voice broke through in response, carried in part whisper and part moan. Their rocking stopped at her words, and she could feel Fenris's throat as he swallowed.

"Madi palmell sur umo cima..." he started again, hesitating.

"Vermell os, mollis pit - non fecuris," she quickly followed.

"Vass qua fegesis ora." He pulled back a little from her on the words so that he could see her eyes, letting his hands cup her elbows.

Meeting his gaze, she shook her head side to side as she spoke, "Ave fegesis tro, umo fiore."

"Kiom saepe festis dicis," he continued as he searched her eyes for answers of his own.

"Kiom Magister neniam fet fins a qua ora," her lips spread in a smile for him.

"Viron fevae amatus tan tum?" he countered.

"Ita fegesis fes amatus et um,  
Kiun ora fesodis?  
Sed qua bei tutti, illis oras fet.  
Non scrupula bei pes millae," she continued, no longer sharing the words back and forth. She raised her head to his as she spoke, teasing him with her words and the purposeful formation of the tones on her lips.  
"Si cadascun povus lerno tum um,  
Fenus da umo dolorae,  
Ibi non viron suptae caelum,  
Iam ut amatus nova."

She regarded the confusion she found in his eyes. He did not know she had heard him on those nights he whispered in her ear. She had not at first either. The words wound themselves in her dream more and more each time he spoke, until she found herself repeating them during her waking hours. Orana overheard her muttering them to herself one day and commented on their sadness. She had been confused until Orana explained that she had been reciting an old Tevinter poem about the loss of love. The author was unknown but was thought to have originated amongst the elven slaves. When Orana asked where she had learned the poem, Hawke could not answer, but only one source made sense to her.

She begged Orana to teach her the entirety and translate it for her and Orana obliged. Hawke remembered the first time she learned the poem's meaning and how after she had tried to force herself to stay awake for days, only pretending to sleep, in case he returned to repeat them. After three days the exhaustion got the better of her, and she could no longer pretend, so she devoted herself to learning more when she woke. She wanted to be prepared to share everything with him should the opportunity arise. Eventually, she mastered the language, but her triumph seemed hollow as days turned to months and years without any encouragement that she would ever be able to use it how she wished.

"Ferepetis o felerno?" he asked hungrily before licking his lips.

"Umlerno, umo somnoborium," she answered sweetly, her tears having stopped completely.

She watched as the realization of her words crashed into Fenris, and his eyes darted between hers, seemingly to make sense of what she had just said. His hands gripped her elbows tighter as a bright smile burst from his lips. She sighed as she drank in the happiness that beamed from him; the moment was just as she had hoped it would be, in spite of all the difficulty it took to get there. She loved him and he her; now they both knew and had no reason to hesitate any longer. She would be his, and she was confident he would not leave her again. The intensity of his gaze and intentions found there, sent pulses through her, dancing across the valley between her thighs and she nipped at the inside of her bottom lip as her heart began to race in response. She too remembered his touch from that night and longed to feel it again. She would not make the first move, preferring his lead, but the will to hold herself back was tenuous at best. It seemed like an eternity to Hawke, the brief moment that Fenris took before capturing her mouth with his. She had anticipated his intensity, but it still engulfed her as if she were unprepared.

His lips were soft but forceful against hers. The touch brought a sting of pain from where she had bit herself earlier, but the feeling faded as it quickly turned to pleasure in his embrace. His hands still gripped her elbows as he pulled her closer to him, forcing her head at an unnatural incline to keep their lips together. Her hands remained on his chest, and she could feel his lyrium erupt under her touch, pulsing like a drum beat driving their desire. Their lips still clung to each other's like dew to a morning flower. Breathing through their noses, neither shifted position in the frozen kiss. To break apart, even for more would feel like death, so new was the sensation to her.

They each had so much more to say to the other, how much they missed, cared, longed but their embrace took precedence and became their new tether of communication. Hawke pressed her mouth up, harder against his, as she rose on her toes to bring her face more level with his. He let her push him back a moment before his hands slid down to her waist and held her tighter still as he pushed back. She could feel her blood racing faster through her as her pelvis slammed against his from his pull. She would need air soon; the new angle buried her nose in his cheek. He smelled radiant, the fire and the sea fusing with his natural aroma.

As their heads turned up again, Hawke broke the kiss by pushing her chin into his and arching her head back; the break was just as devastating as she had imagined but she needed a breath. Her lips still hovered just off his as they each gasped for air. The cave was dark, and she realized she still had her eyes closed from their embrace. Slowly she let them flutter open as if unwrapping a cherished present. When she last let them wide, she found her present gazing back at her through fields of green. She still struggled to smooth the staccato of her breath, as his lips parted again, but he did not move to hers.

"I am yours," he declared, letting the accent of his words frolic on her lips, "and you are mine," he growled before grabbing her lip with his teeth. She let her head go limp in his bite as one of his hands wound around her hips to grip her ass, the other snaking up her spine.

"Yes, Fenris, always," she moaned as he released her lip.

Before she could return the gesture, he grabbed one side of her ass again but lower this time and lifted her off the floor catching her fall with his other hand on her opposite cheek. The motion forced her knees to bend, and on the momentum she swung them around his hips, interlocking them behind his back. Her childish squeal of delight echoed through the cave and reverberated back to them. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her as he contemplated the effect in his ear.

"Care to make the walls sing?" he asked mischievously with a smirk on his face and hunger in his eyes.

"Oh yes..." she breathed in reply as she searched for his lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have structured a working syntax for Tevene with vocabulary inspired by a mix of 5 different languages. I worked from a base of Bioware provided phrases and extrapolated with my understanding of various language structures. If you are interested in more information or learning what I have, feel free to message me.
> 
> The poem they recite is a real poem thought to originate in medieval Ireland. Its authorship is unknown, but the title is believed to be 'Forgetfulness.' It seems long in the context of the chapter, and I debated cutting pieces but decided in the end that I could not part with a line; it just sang to me of Fenris's feelings. I hope y'all agree with my choice. 
> 
> Tevene Translation: Please note, there is a difference between literal translation and interpretation. What I have below is the interpretation. For literal translation, so you may better understand the structure of the language I have made, message me :)
> 
> Fasta Vass! Beivae stulta. = Fuck it all! I am a fool.  
> Amatus = Love/Loved One/My Love  
> Si ora fedis umo tan fedicis, = If now you hate me as you say  
> Ita fegesis tan avainte, = Can you forget so soon  
> Et quo fes es vi um, mundis aufretae, = How you and I, the world away  
> Pridem nosvae kusis vi nosvae viglis luno = once lay and watched the moon?  
> Ita fegesis in dies frigis, = Can you forget the day when cool  
> Videturae nos amatus u sole, = Seemed to our love the sun  
> Dies, qua nos -? sed beivae stulta, =The day that we -? But I'm a fool,  
> Praete in dies fet, = Besides, that day is done,  
> Ita fegesis festis kare umo villus? = Can you forget you stroked my hair?  
> Madi palmell sur umo cima, = Moist palm upon my brow,  
> Vermell os, mollis pit - non fecuris. = Red mouth, soft breast - You do not care.  
> Vass qua fegesis ora. = All that's forgotten now.  
> Ave fegesis tro, umo fiore. = Can you forget your love for me?  
> Kiom saepe festis dicis, = How often you would tell  
> Kiom Magister neniam fet fins a qua ora, = How God ne'er made until that hour  
> Viron fevae amatus tan tum? = A man you loved so well?  
> Ita fegesis fes amatus et um, = Can you forget your love for me,  
> Kiun ora fesodis? = Whom now you do detest?  
> Sed qua bei tutti, illis oras fet. = But that's all one, those times are gone.  
> Non scrupula bei pes millae, = No doubt 'tis for the best.  
> Si cadascun povus lerno tum um, = If each could learn as well as I  
> Fenus da umo dolorae, = To profit by my pain  
> Ibi non viron suptae caelum, = There's ne'er a man beneath the sky  
> Iam ut amatus nova. = Would ever love again.  
> Ferepetis o felerno? = Do you parrot or do you understand?  
> Umlerno, umo somnoborium = I know, my vessel of dreams


	5. Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris pick up where they left off and the reality is sweeter than the memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, who has subscribed, bookmarked, and given a Kudo! Y'all are a wonderful encouragement, and it fuels the creativity to be able to learn and share with an interactive audience.  
> (づ￣ ³￣)づ
> 
> I have increased the rating for this chapter, and I hope it is well received. I have a love for details, and this is an entire chapter devoted to nothing but the good ones.  
> *It was a little daunting to write smut for the first time, but fun as well.

Time stopped again for Hawke as Fenris held her against him, hands on her ass, her legs wrapped securely around his waist. She had tried to imagine this moment in hopes that wishing would lead to fruition, but the reality only proved she had a much more limited imagination that she thought. As she brought her lips to his again, she breathed him in as if he was life itself. Her body felt simultaneously weak in his grasp and stronger than ever as she held tightly to him. Passion rolled through her body like waves, and she propelled them forward into the kiss. She brought her hands around his neck, and her fingers ran through his hair. She felt a vibration on her lips as Fenris murmured at her touch, it tickled, and she parted her mouth slightly. His tongue brushed between the part she created, and her legs quivered at the sensation. She opened further, swiping the tip of her tongue against his. He tilted his head to get a better angle and in anticipation of what would follow she balled his hair into her fist. His tongue probed deeper into her, running along the side of her tongue; her involuntary moan reverberated against their shared space in her mouth. He tasted like the lingering notes of the wine, and she was suddenly thirsty for more.

She pulled herself up using his neck as leverage so that she could push her tongue further along his. Fenris's grip on her ass tightened as her pelvis shifted in his hands at her movement. His fingers, even with their short dulled nails, digging deeper into her curves felt like ten needle pricks, and it sent a fire surging into her core. She could feel the cloth of her small clothes becoming hot against her. The knowledge of her body responding to his touch only intensified the desire she felt. With her new position, she surged forward in his mouth, swirling her tongue around his and then lapping at the taste of the wine. He brought his tongue underneath hers and pressed against the underside where it tethered to the bottom of her mouth. Her body spasmed against him as her mind linked the motion with a memory of similar movements between her legs. Maker, he felt good, and she was not sure how much more she could take before the rush in her core would overpower her. The thought that she could find release from just his kiss embarrassed her a little, but then again, it had been three years, and she had not had the touch of another during that time.

She knew he felt her shudder as his tongue froze for a brief, agonizing minute; she was so close. Finally, he moved again dragging the tip of his tongue along the underside of hers towards her tip, lifting it up to the roof of her mouth, before pulling back slightly and then surging in again to press against the tether. As his mouth slammed back against hers, she wanted to cry out but could only manage a whimper as her core pulsed with fire. Her legs trembled causing her ankles to loosen their hold of each other as her knees sought to straighten with the rush of fresh fire that ran through her veins as her rapture peaked. The crest of which, she could feel drenched her small clothes, and she had no doubt he could feel the dampness against his firm stomach as she pressed into him. She broke their kiss to catch her breath and let the last of the fire ebb back to a simmer.

Fenris refused to be parted from her and began kissing the edge of her mouth, running back along the line of her jaw to her ear; she panted. His lips were just as forceful against her skin as they had been against her mouth, each one a renewed promise of another. Slowly he edged forward kissing and then nipping at the hard border between her cheek and neck. Her eyes rolled back into the darkness of their lids as her tongue ran against the rim of her teeth. She bit her tongue slightly when his mouth enveloped the lobe of her ear and then pulled as he sucked on the downy skin. She released her hold on his neck and ran her hand down his back as far as she could reach, pressing the heel of her palm into the rise of his muscles as she ran her hand back up to his shoulder. She was unsure how long he had been holding her, but she was impressed by the strength of his strained muscles. She had seen him swing his great sword near effortlessly and the thought that he could do the same with her made her hungry for more.

She brought her hands to cup his face and force his lips back to hers; she wanted him to feel her hunger. As her tongue pushed passed his lips, she spread her thighs wider apart and used the new space to grind her core against him. It was his turn to release a rumbling, deep-seated moan. His hands pressed her pelvis against him, and she could feel his stance falter slightly at the movement. She knew he would not drop her, but the motion sent butterflies through her stomach, and she clawed at his back to maintain balance as she deepened their kiss. She could feel the eruption of his lyrium in response, a feeling like ice brushing on her skin. The blinding light filtered through the lids of her closed eyes and she imagined a ship in the sea believing it to be a sudden distant star popping low on the horizon. She let back on the kiss, concerned that she may have hurt him, but he bit her tongue to hold her in place, only releasing when she renewed her depth.

Fenris shifted their weight and brought one arm under her for support while the other grasped at her back just below her neck. She felt her hair flutter in a breeze as he spun her around and started walking towards the pallet. She knew that they would have to break apart to set her down, that the reprieve would only be temporary, and the reward would be more than gratifying, but it did not override her desire to keep their current embrace. He stopped walking when his shins abruptly hit the edge of the pallet; the impact jerked her head back from his but not with enough force so that she fell. Her lips were now brushing against his as she moaned his name into them. If she would have to be put down, she wanted him to have the best view possible on the way.

She curved her spine forwards and let her head roll into the movement, her forehead against his. She moved her hands to his shoulders for grip before she arched her head back and slowly lowered herself down in a backward arc from his body. Her breasts rose up to his neck in the motion, and she paused only long enough for him to bury his face in their pillowy valley. Still gripping tightly to his shoulders, she began to shift her grip down his biceps as the arch of her spine became more acute, and her head lower down and farther away from his face. His head slid down from her breasts to her rib cage as she moved and he dragged his lips along her skin. She rolled her hips into him as she held the unnatural position waiting for a sign that he could not withstand any longer. When she felt his hips buck into hers, she snapped back up straight and let her legs swing back so that she balanced on her knees against his sides. They were both breathing heavily from her acrobatics, and she could see his eyes were heavy from arousal as she looked down at him. His hands shifted underneath her thighs to support her new position as she licked up the outer rim of his ear; he did not stifle his growl this time.

Her tongue snaked up the rim of his ear before she nipped on the pointy end. She heard him say her name and she smiled as repeated the action. Suddenly his hand gripped the top of her thigh and pushed her back with enough force that her knees lost grip. She was only in free fall for a split moment before he had swung her body in a rotation and caught her under the knees with one arm and her back with the other. She yelped in response and playfully hit him with her fist as he laughed. She nuzzled her head into the side of his chest and whimpered at their lack of embrace. He kissed her forehead as he turned to sit down on the pallet. Once in his lap, she raised herself up and began kissing his neck, starting at the collarbone. She could feel him tugging at the laces of her boots as she teased kisses up and down his skin. When he finally broke her free of one boot, she sunk her teeth into the flesh of his neck and then released quickly, sucking the tender spot until he flicked her hear with his fingers. She pulled back to look at him in astonishment, only to see him eyeing her like an offering for sacrifice, as he licked his lips as he jerked at the laces of her remaining boot.

Enjoying the intensity of his gaze, she stretched her hand to meet his and helped him free her bound leg from the worn leather. She gingerly placed her hand on top of his and pressed it into the warmth of her calf as she peppered his sore neck with soft kisses. She guided his hand up along her leg until they reached her thigh. She then placed her hands on his shoulders and stood up, letting her arms trail behind her as she turned away only to circle back to stand in front of him, her knees touching his. She bent slightly to increase the pressure and to encourage him to spread his legs apart. His hands splayed out to his side to support his weight as he leaned back slightly to gain a better view of her. She smiled as she stood before him and slowly began to unfasten her breast plate. His eyes darted back and forth from her eyes to her fingers as the nimbly worked to loosen her bindings. Soon enough it was free, and she tossed it towards the table. He placed his hands on her thighs once more as he leaned forward to kiss her. Starting at her upper thigh, he brushed light kisses along her body in a random pattern that left her knees weak.

Steadily his lips pressed close to her inner thigh, and his hands rose up the hem of her tunic until his nose began to sweep across the fabric of her small clothes. She ran her fingers through his hair once more as his head dipped below the skirt of her tunic and his hands gripped the back of her legs where her thighs met the rise of her ass. She shifted onto the balls of her feet as he pressed his mouth entirely against the soft mound between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled back and let his nose drag along the folds hidden behind the cloth. She let out a loud moan when she felt his teeth pull at the top brim of her smalls as he fingers crawled up her ass to help him pull them down from her. A powerful shudder ran up her spine as his hot breath puffed against her newly exposed skin, the cloth of her small clothes grazing against her leg before he tossed them aside without a care.

Her breathing was shallow as her chest raised and lowered in quick succession. She felt suddenly warm as Fenris's tongue tickled her hair searching for the point that would send a raging fire to her core. She could not brace herself in time as his tongue flicked the treasure he found, and she whimpered in response. She could hear his laugh at the moment before she felt the heat of his mouth encompass her and suck on the raised nub. She lurched forward unintentionally and caught herself with her hands on his shoulders. She looked down only to see the white of his hair shift as he titled his head up and lapped at her silky folds. She threw her head back at the feeling and grasped at her chest, feeling like it would explode within her. Tenderly he let the tip of his tongue spread her lower lips until she could feel him just on the edge of entry. She could feel how wet she was against him and worried he would drown but to her delight, he kept moving. His tongue swirled and jutted along her opening, teasing admittance but no further.

She cried out his name in between staccato breaths as the fire grew steadily in her core, the flames rising with each pass of his tongue. When her legs were visibly shaking from the power of the sensations, his hands released their tension and began working to gather the hem of her tunic as he started kissing up to the rise of her pelvis, his lips drenched with her. Her legs still felt weak but she no longer felt like she would collapse, and her heart slowed its pumping so that it was no longer throbbing in her chest. He trailed kisses up her abdomen till he could no longer reach and raised his arms lifting her tunic until she took it from his, drawing it over her breasts slowly so that he could watch, eventually pulling it over her head and tossing it behind her. He ran the palms of his hands over her pale skin, mapping every curve and scar. His touch was delicate, and she savored the feeling. When he brought his hands to cup her breasts, she met his eyes with hers and smiled at him. As she gazed into his eyes, she wondered how she could have ever doubted that he loved her - wanted her. She had been the fool, not he, and she bent over to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

His hands pulled at her, beckoning her down to deepen the kiss. She relented easily and straddled him with her legs bent back at the knee. As she settled into place, she broke their kiss with a sudden chuckle; she could feel his hard arousal constrained against the tight leather of his pants. He looked at her with half rolled eyes and shrugged. She cupped his face and kissed him again, pressing her tongue against his lips as he parted them for her. She could taste herself as she embraced his mouth. His hands wandered up her back and began to tug at her breast band, attempting to release it blindly. When he had no luck, she released his kiss with a flick of her tongue and ground her hips into his as she reached up and released her breasts from their binding. She shook her hair free, letting it fall in front of her as the fabric fell from her fingers. His hands lightly brushed the hair behind her back before returning to caress her bare breasts. He leaned forward and took a nipple into his mouth to suck, and she breathed out audibly as the warmth of his tongue made small circular motions against the peak of her breast.

She arched her back to give him more and bit her lip as he greedily took in her offering. Not to neglect the other, his free hand fondled her before taking its peak into his fingers with a pinch. She gasped, and he let the one breast release from his mouth to turn his attention to the other. He worked the pair in tandem and Hawke could feel her stomach tighten with the pulses of her core. Although she adored his attention, she wanted more, so she let her fingers sneak down his chest to the rim of his pants as he embraced her chest. Her fingers slide into the band of his waist until she could feel the loose ends of the laces that held him in place. Slowly she shifted her fingers back and forth until the laces finally gave way; he moaned in approval. She bent her body slightly to allow further reach as her hand sought to release his arousal from its confines. As her first finger grazed the satin skin, he pulled back from her. The space gave her the room she needed to rotate her wrist and fully grasp his length in her hand. He hissed through his teeth at the sudden contact, but she could feel his pulse and knew he felt as good as she did.

She pushed up on her knees as she let him go so that she could work at pulling off the only clothes he wore. She stood up as he raised his hips to help her, then kicking his legs out as she stepped back to pull them free. She stood there for a moment admiring his body. He was like a work of art and although she knew the markings were a source of pain she could not help but treasure them as a part of the man she loved. His tan skin contrasting with the white and blue was stunning and only made his eyes stand out that much more.

She did not return to his lap but rather knelt down between his now bare legs. She let her fingers walk along his skin as he had done to her arms earlier, starting at his feet. As she slowly made her way up his calves, she let her fingers sweep back and forth in the fold behind his knee, teasing him with a smirk as his breath quickened. Eager to reach her destination, she did not linger, instead, continuing her touch up his thighs and down the curve of his hips until she grasped him again. She could feel his butt clench as she expelled hot breath on to his tip. She lifted him up and let her tongue glide along the shaft from bottom to top, and once there she swirled the tip of him with pursed lips. The knuckles of his hands went white in his grip of the fur blanket as she pressed him past her lips and took him into her mouth. She hummed to stimulate him with vibration as she descended his length. His hips thrust forward on their own accord as he yelled his pleasure into the quiet of the cave.

She began to glide back and forth along his shaft letting her tongue dance along the length before flicking the tip. One of her hands cupped his loins, and the other reached up to tease a nipple of his chest. She could taste the tang of a bead as it trickled from him as she worked. She lapped it up and mixed it with the moisture of her mouth as she continued to bob her head between his legs. When his hips bucked again, she released him with a pop and looked up to see his eyes half-lidded and his bottom lip held tight with his teeth. Without opening his eyes, he swiftly reached for her and pulled her up to him, tossing her on the pallet. She rotated in the motion and landed on her back, ready for him to devour her.

She shifted her hips to better position herself entirely on the pallet as he stood up and leaned over her, placing a hand on either side of her arms so he could crawl into the makeshift bed with her. She purred as he lowered himself so that one side of his body fully pressed against one side of hers. She lifted her head as he slid his arm underneath her neck and embraced her in another passionate kiss, his other hand kneading her body as if she were dough in a bakery. She welcomed the massage as it spread his warmth across her skin. With their eyes closed and their lips occupied, their bodies began to intertwine with every passing moment. The intensity steadily increased as hands became desperate to roam, grab, and hold. Breaks for breath allowed escaped moans and grunts to fill the cave. When her core felt like an inferno, she parted her legs and wrapped one around him pulling him closer to her. He settled his hips against hers and found a slow rhythm with which to grind against her.

When neither could wait any longer, he pushed himself up onto his elbows to support his weight as he shifted his position on top of her before renewing their kiss. She bent her knee and pressed her hip open as he reached down to stroke himself. He slid along her opening to bath in the wetness, and she whimpered at the proximity. Wanting to see her as he breached, he relinquished their kiss and lifted his head above her, as if to give her once last chance to decline. She only smiled at him, letting her eyes carry her happiness and desire. She held his gaze as he pressed into her firmly, only rolling her eyes back with a gasp as the last of him filled her and she could feel the pressure against her inner walls. Once fully seated inside her, he paused and let her adjust to his size, her sheath quivering at the intrusion. He leaned down and softly kissed her cheek, patiently waiting for her before moving again. Finally, she rolled her hips, and he began to rock within her.

She was tight around him and would need time to relax before he could work to a finish. Unabatingly he began to push against her until he could completely withdraw and enter again with ease. Each drive of him inside her, a reminder of his words: Hawke - thrust; Amatus - thrust; I am yours - thrust; You are mine - thrust. An imperfect rhythm as his hips met hers and her body expanded to invite him deeper with each pulse. Their kisses became more desperate as their bodies writhed. The air turned humid from the heat and sweat of their passion, and the sounds of their ecstasy filled the cave. A traveler would think the coast haunted by the disembodied noises that undoubtedly carried to the cliffs above them.

They continued to press against one another as the pleasure greedily incited more. Faster and faster the pace went until it was just an automatic response to their mutual need. Their breathing became ragged and erratic and their touch more forceful and demanding. When Fenris unsheathed himself and did not return promptly, Hawke broke their kiss to cry out and raked her fingers along his back demanding his return. When he did, it was with such force that her back arched and lifted off the pallet taking her breath away. She wrapped her legs tightly around him and dug her heels into his ass so he could not repeat the taunt. She was close and wanted them to finish together, with him inside her until he had spent his last.

He called her name as his legs shuddered with the effort of his rush, kissing her wildly as if she would disappear if he let her go. She returned his embrace with as much fury. She knew this would be only the first of many joinings, specifically that night, but in the haze of their frenzy, it did not matter. They clung to each other as though it would be their last, memories of a three-year wait lingering in the shadows. She rolled her hips and pressed her breast against him as her legs squeezed his hips. She would not let him go again. He responded in kind, letting the dance of their bodies be a testament to their conviction. Finally, her core erupted in a blaze of fire that overwhelmed her senses. Her eyes went white, and she held her breath as the fire lashed her again and again. She gave herself over to it as she felt her body slacken from the indulgence. Every muscle in her body screamed with delight, her sheath pulsing against his length with each spark from the fire. Her exhilaration was infectious, and after only a few more thrusts she could feel his muscles stiffen above her. She reveled in his prolonged groan as her passage filled with his heat.

They continued to rock, only gradually slowing their pace and desperation as each enduringly waited for the haze of their climax to subside. When the last spasm and pulse resounded within them and the rigidity of his length diminished, Fenris collapsed on top of her with his face nestled in the crook of her neck, his arms holding her under her shoulders. Hawke let her legs unwrap and fall to the pallet and brought her arms around his back to cradle him. They lay in that position, allowing their breath and pulse to return to a more natural pace. Neither spoke or opened their eyes, just inhaling the scent of their love mingled with the sea.

As her clarity returned, Hawke became concerned that the surge might cause his memories to flash again, so she stroked his hair and whispered her love to him.

"Amatus, I am alright," he finally spoke; he had sensed her concern.

He tenderly pushed himself back up on to his elbows, testing the return of his strength as he moved so that he could look into her eyes. They were a brilliant shade of blue with flecks of ivory like stars in an evening sky. Stars that shined for him and him alone and would endure through the ages come what may.

"I am yours, and you are mine," he kissed her forehead. "I will never leave again."

She smiled at him and nuzzled her nose against his. "As if I would let you," she breathed against his lips.

He kissed her with closed lips as he shifted his weight to her side and she rolled to face him. They lay bare together on the pallet, arms lazily draped over each other, staring into one another's eyes in silent meditation, neither wanting to look away, the newness of their union still fresh and cautious.

Hawke eventually succumbed to the lull of the waves and crackle of the fire, drifting to sleep with Fenris close behind her. They would not sleep long.


	6. 1,123

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They would never have another conversation about the missing years, what each thought the other meant, or how much they wanted to make it up to the other, they would start fresh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a good stopping point for the story. Your readership and kind encouragement are greatly appreciated. As my first fanfic, it is important to me to finish well and leave you satiated in the arc; please let me know if I have done so. Thanks!

A familiar scent tickled Hawke's nose as she began to slip from the Fade. She loved that smell, the rush of security and comfort it brought. She had a small box in her wardrobe back home that held the last traces of the scent. When it was new, she had basked in it daily mourning its permanent loss. Over time, the smell became sacred, and she would only seek it out sparingly, knowing that each time she did it would diminish further. When she felt a warm hand brush along her cheek, she smiled at the memory that she would not have to be so protective of the box's contents any longer. She could have the scent anytime she wanted now. 

"You are so beautiful, especially when you have a peaceful sleep," a deep breathy voice spoke to her.

"Mmm...how do you know my sleep was peaceful?"

"I always know."

Hawke opened her eyes at the confession; a forest of green looked back. Her heart sang with love for the elf in her arms and the knowledge of how much he cared for her. Fenris would topple mountains, harness the stars, and bring nations to their knees for her. She shifted to bring herself closer to him, her nose brushing along his chin, "how many times?" 

"How many what?" She knew he understood what she was asking and wondered at the reason for his sudden coyness.

"How many times have you watched me sleep?" She brought her forehead to his, offering him a moment of privacy if he felt embarrassed to answer.

Fenris did not respond immediately as one arm round around her waist and the other, still under her neck, braced against her back, pulled her into his chest. When her face nestled in the crook of his neck and his lips rest against the temple of her forehead, he took a deep breath, "I’ve already told you."

She nuzzled against his nape but stopped to look up at him, wordlessly expressing her confusion. 

“I told you that I thought about what I would say to you no less than a thousand times. Do you think I would lie to you? Where do you think I stayed while I contemplated?”

Her breath halted as she did the math in her head, she had thought his words were a figure of speech or a gross exaggeration at worst. Hawke laid dumbstruck; not even she had ever counted the days. It never occurred to her to keep track, absorbed in self-pity and infantile heartache. How could he be the one to feel ashamed when she was at fault, she had pushed and demanded too much. "Fenris, that's almost every night since..." she was in too much shock to finish the sentence. 

"I know."

She pushed back from him, desperate to look in his eyes more carefully, searching for an answer, or confirmation of what she heard. She knew he had been there, but never so often, "why?" she finally stuttered.

He rolled to his back and shifted so that his head was directly under hers. She could see him preparing his answer as his eyes narrowed in concentration, "because you are my life, my breath, and as much as I ran from pain, I found none worse than being apart from you. It was better to be your night guardian than nothing at all."

She watched as he closed his eyes and sighed. She wanted to know everything about him and would have said she already did, but this revelation exposed another cavern of him to explore. "But why not say something? You must have known how much I wanted you." 

"In truth, not until you unleashed on me earlier," he slowly opened his eyes, and she could see his struggle to look at her as he spoke. “I was blind to what you wanted, how you felt. I resigned only to return what you expressed.”

Hawke let out a heavy sigh as the realization of the morning’s events from his perspective began to dawn on her. “I didn't know you were waiting for me to wake up. I thought you had already left.” She felt his arm tense as a deluge of embarrassment filled her. Fenris did not respond, and she closed her eyes to wait out the silence, as much as she adored his gaze it was too intense this close in such an exchange. 

“That explains...a bit, actually,” he murmured after several agonizingly quiet moments. “I didn’t know what you wanted, but I knew I did not want to lose you again. You were acting out of character, so I tried to meet you halfway. It seems neither of us knew what we were doing.”

She opened her eyes when she felt his hand stroke her face. “I’m so sorry, I’m the one that's been the fool. If I could go back and change things I would.”

"It is not just that day I regret. It's every moment in the last one thousand, one hundred, and twenty-three days that I did not take you in my arms and declare my love for you. I snuck on to the window ledge of your room like a thief intent on stealing private moments. Too ashamed to show in the day, feeding on my lies and fear, but too wretched to leave."

In a swift motion, Hawke sat up and straddled him. Her hands pressed against his chest and she briefly registered the surprised expression on Fenris's face as she pressed her lips against his. The sun had set long ago, and moonlight cast shadows of the fire on the cave walls as she enveloped him in an unrelenting kiss. Finally, she pulled back from him but let her face hover just over his as she smiled, "one thousand, one hundred, and twenty-two." 

Fenris's fingers tenderly pushed her hair behind an ear as he raised up enough to brush his lips against hers, "one thousand, one hundred, and twenty-one." 

Hawke smiled into a sigh and pressed her nose against his before kissing the side of his mouth and then trailing kisses up his cheek in an arc to the side of his eye, forcing him to close them. Taking advantage, she continued to place chaste, sweet kisses along his brow until she had gone full circle around his face and rested her forehead against his, noses slotting against each other and shallow breaths pouring onto another's lips. "I've lost count," she laughed a little.

Fenris brought his arms around her back and hugged her tight, "maybe we should start over."

"Hmmm, perhaps," she murmured, "but promise me something first." Neither moved in the moment of silence that followed until Fenris responded by kicking his knee up causing Hawke to roll her hips forward against his. 

"Anything, Amatus," he whispered as his hands glided down her bare back. 

"You will learn another poem." Fenris could not help the laugh that barrelled out his chest causing Hawke to push up in a seated position atop him. His whole body shook as he laughed, something Hawke had never seen. She clung to his sides to not roll off from the jolt of his laughter. As she watched him form a smile of a size she had not thought him capable, it occurred to her that they would need to start over not just as lovers but as friends. She chuckled at the sight of red flushing into his cheeks as he laughed, a new beginning. 

"Maker, I adore you!" he yelled into the night air. Hawke stopped laughing at the exaltation, too surprised by yet another outburst. It was as if he was a new person entirely and she had no idea how to react. Her usually reserved and stoic Fenris replaced with a carefree and jovial, she did not know what.

He cocked his head to the side and brought a thumb to trace the outline of her lips. Then pulling her hand down, he guided her thumb to do the same as he spoke, "I love you." A blush crept up her cheeks and a small smile crested on her face as she looked down at him, watching the firelight dance across his skin. "Promise me something in return."

With her fingers still tracing the features of his face, she replied without consideration, "anything." Unexpectedly she toppled backward quickly feeling the soft fur of the blanket as her back hit the pallet between his legs. Fenris perched awkwardly above her, restrained by her raised knees from moving any further forward to her. He brought his hands to stroke her thighs and Hawke felt nervous, being so openly bare at such an angle in front of him. 

"No matter how mad you get, at me or the world, no matter how sad you feel, promise me, you will run to me rather than away." Hawke opened her mouth to speak, but Fenris shook his head to interrupt her. "I intend to spend every moment of the rest of my days helping you count back the time I've wasted. No matter how many times you lose count or want to stop altogether, promise me you will keep going until I have repaid the pain with affection ten-fold."

She heard what he said but could not comprehend the meaning. There was no way to measure the hurt she had felt at his leaving but she was sure their renewed love would soon eclipse it. "Fen," she started but found the words she wanted insufficient. She wanted desperately to show him that she forgave him but could not think of the appropriate words to express her intent. "I will be cruel."

Fenris seemed to brace for her response, but even this was a surprise. His hands stopped their caress and his breath halted, waiting for her to continue. With clarity and force, she finally spoke again, “I have forgiven you and will remind you every time you are feeling insecure. You’re right, there will be times I am so mad at you I wish I could shoot flames up your ass and in those moments I will likely be unfair, taking the opportunity to remind you of your mistake, but,” she emphasized heavily, “those times will be fleeting and immediately followed by repentance and shame. I love you more than it seems I can bear and the thought of you being in pain tears at me worse than the Arishok’s blade...you...are not the only one who made mistakes.”

A rush of activity brought Fenris’s body flush against hers, pressing her down so that she could barely breathe as he crashed into her mouth. They would never have another conversation about the missing years, what each thought the other meant, or how much they wanted to make it up to the other, they would start fresh. As if sealing the unspoken pact, Hawke returned Fenris’s intensity with her own. Her hands were rushing to his hair and neck to hold their union. He smothered her so completely the compression of his chest made her breasts hurt but the pain melted with the heat of his body and the pleasure he sent like shocks through her limbs as his hands roved over every exposed portion of her flesh. 

He ground his hips into hers and a guttural moan escaped their kiss as she snaked her legs around his and met his hard arousal with a lift and roll of her pelvis. The temperature in the cave dropped further as the cold sea air began to whip around them, their sparing breaths formed clouds and mixed with the steam of their embrace. Fenris traced the lines of her muscles up from her hips across the swell of the side of her breasts, and up her arms to her hands. She now supported his full body weight, and the increased load only made his desire for her that much more apparent against her inner thigh. 

With a gasp that made her break their wet kiss, he thrust against her, grinding himself at the crest of her soft mound, and arched his back allowing him leverage to lace his fingers with hers as he brought them above her head. When his lips returned, they went to her neck where he licked and sucked deep bruises from her ear to shoulder. Each more fierce than the last and coupled with a demand from his unrelenting heat; she could feel the friction subside as she grew increasingly wet. Soon he would push past her threshold without effort, but for now, she enjoyed his rhythmic grinding against her lower lips. 

“Fen,” she cried on heavy breath as he transferred her hands to a new grip with only one of his as the other began to float across her body. 

Her attempt to plead never made it off her tongue as his thrust against hers. His lips bruising hers as he worshiped the shape and taste of her. Her core fired bolts of elation through her with each brush of his tongue in her mouth, and caress of his calloused hand against her soft, scared skin. She raised her hips up to grind against his in an attempt to seat his arousal in hers. The action brought a groan from Fenris that she could feel reverberate against her chest. 

With her arms still pinned above her head, she arched her back and rolled her hips again, this time rewarded with a sudden pressure in her core as he slid inside. They each broke the kiss with a cry and a moan, Hawke throwing her head back and Fenris resting his forehead against her collarbone as he adjusted his position. He began slowly to pull back out of her, and she could feel every part of him as he dragged against her inner walls. 

“Fasta Vass!” she screamed as she dug her nails into his hand and wrapped her legs around him tighter.

He chuckled at her response and lingered for a moment without moving before thrusting in with such force that Hawke’s throat went dry and a flash of white blinded her vision. She could hear his shallow grunts as he found his pace and slid in and out her with ease. She gasped at the pleasure, and her toes curled as every muscle began to go taut in anticipation of her release. 

“Marian!” he cried out as her walls clamped down on his length, throwing off his momentum, “I..can’t…” his words struggling to find sound as his body shook against hers. 

She released enough to allow him to return to his ravishing pace but pulsed against him as she bit his lip and danced her tongue in his mouth. Fenris now slammed into her and she could feel the head of his length hit resistance within her core, each time causing her to release a vulgar sound into his mouth, then against his cheek as she gasped for air, and then finally into the cave as the wave of pleasure rocked her from toe to finger. 

She could not breathe, every muscle responding only to the delight he brought. Her vision swam behind closed lids, and she felt that she would tear in half from the onslaught. She was sure she would scream as soon as air returned to her; she would be hoarse tomorrow. 

As she rode the waves of pleasure he sent through her, she felt his free hand move to her ass and grab to tilt her higher. She vaguely registered what he was doing and lessened the grip her legs had on his and moved them around his waist, interlocking her ankles to give him better anchorage to find his own release. Slowly she began to register the scent of his sweat, that sweet musk she loved so well. 

As her vision returned she opened her eyes to look at his beautiful expression, “Fen, look at me. Let me see you.”

With a flash, his eyes met hers, and it only served to send a new rush of heat through them as his paced became erratic. Each last push into her she responded with a gentle kiss on his cheek, and a clutch of her pelvic walls against him until he peaked and she could feel his heat fill her. With a final cry, he collapsed atop her and released her hands, having spent his strength. 

Their union had been quick but somehow more healing than the first. Each relaxed into their entwined embrace and although his weight still crushed her against the hard pallet, it was perfection, and Hawke was reluctant to show any signs of discomfort, lest he move. Absorbed in her contentment, it took longer than it should have for her to notice Fenris’s skin has gone cold and he was holding his breath. 

She opened her mouth to call his name but was not sure what to say. Using his full name seemed too formal to offer comfort and shortening his name suddenly seemed too flippant. He called her ‘Amatus’ but that was his, she needed her own name for him in moments like this, moments when the name alone would convey all the feeling required. Her mind began shuffling through pet names she had heard growing up but quickly decided against her native tongue, the names seemed trivial. Orleasian was out: too stuffy; Tevene was his…then a term popped in her head. 

“Kadan,” Qunari seemed like a safe, neutral language and in such a rigid society, terms of endearment were rare. It felt right and seemed to convey what she needed as she felt the rise of his chest press against hers once again. 

“I think it will be some time before I grow accustomed to that.” He rolled to his side, releasing their embrace. 

The chill of the night air rushed to replace the warmth of his touch as he moved and she struggled to catch her breath as fear crept in with the cold. She had not meant to offend him. She could tell he was fighting, most likely having a memory flash but she was at a loss as to what she could do to help; he'd ran last time but had promised not to do it again. 

“I'm sorry, I did not…” fingers pressed against her mouth and she stopped talking. 

“I was not referring to you,” Fenris consoled with a strained voice. 

The color that had drained from Hawke returned with a flourish as she took a larger than necessary breath of relief. She instinctively grabbed his hand as she kissed his lingering fingers. “What can I do?” her voice more confident than she realized. 

Fenris gave a noncommittal huff, there was nothing either could do to make it better, at least not at the moment. “Stay with me, like this. We will figure out the future later.”

“That sounds like a perfect plan, are you hungry? I packed some supplies too.” She felt his head nod in agreement and so gave his hand a last quick peck before starting to untangle herself from their twisted hold. As she tried to sit up, a weight held her back. 

“Who said you could move,” came a deep growl from her side as an arm gripped her waist and soft lips brushed her shoulder. 

“If you want food then I must move,” she chuckled as she patted his arm. With an annoyed groan, he released his hold. 

Hawke moved swiftly to her pack, fishing out the meager supplies she brought before remembering to stoke the fire. She had not anticipated how cold the night would be and she shivered as she made her way to the warmth of the open flames. She added kindling, and as the fire hungrily engulfed her offering, she returned with her supplies to the pallet. Fenris had sat up and repositioned the blankets to keep them warm. He opened his arms to invite her to sit back against him, and she wanted to melt at sight. 

“I'm not sure that I will ever grow accustomed to the sight of you waiting for me, especially like that,” Hawke gestured with her head to indicate his naked form. 

“We both have things to which we will need to acclimate, but this will be the easiest by far. Daily exposure should inoculate any shock,” he instructed in a mocking tone.

“Daily?” she asked as she settled against him. 

“I told you I would not leave your side. Do you know a way to have me within reach but not see me?”

Hawke wanted to make a quip about window ledges but thought better of it. “No, but I also don't want to presume. You are free to do what you want. I don't want to hold you back.”

She felt his chin rest on her shoulder, and his cheek press against her ear. “Orana cooks for an army, and I hardly require more than Bodahn already provides. I'm not sure what to do with the mansion, but it won't deteriorate any faster in my absence.”

Hawke’s breath shuddered for a moment as she hoped for further clarification of his intentions. It sounded like he planned to move in with her, but she could not have heard correctly. The elf she knew was independent and stubborn in his resolve to maintain it. 

“Who are you?” she almost laughed as she asked.

“What?”

“Nothing, it's…You continue to surprise me. If it's your intention to move in, then I won't object. I just want to be sure that you aren't forced or obligated.”

His hands held her shoulders and leaned her to the side so that he could look at her as he spoke. “I am exactly where I want to be, with the person I want to be with. No one is forcing me, and I certainly don't feel obliged to do anything I don't want to do. So I'm done talking about this, we've made promises and will hold each other to them, the rest will figure itself out as we go. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she nodded as she stared back at him. 

“Good, now what did you bring? I'm famished and impatient to have you underneath me again.” Hawke could not withhold the blush that raced across her cheeks nor the twitch of her thighs as he spoke. 

As they ate, she nestled against his chest and could hear his heartbeat steadily behind her, only moving to reach for more food or pass the water cask between them.

“Read to me,” she requested after a long silence.

“I didn’t bring any books.”

“You found my journals enlightening enough. What did you read in them?” She was careful to keep her tone light and jovial, only wanting to convey curiosity, not anger. 

Fenris choked on his sip of water as he tried to answer, “I didn’t...I didn’t read your journals. I admit I did glance at them the first time I was here, but only because I didn’t know what they were. The one you saw me holding was a fresh one I supplied; it seemed you were running low on space for future entries.”

“How many times have you been here exactly?”

“A few,” he gave a smug retort.

“How did you find this place?” Hawke turned to face him, letting the blankets rest against her upper arm like a shawl.

“The better question is how did you. For my part it was easy, I followed you.” There was no shame in his eyes as he answered and she smiled at how easy he could admit stalking her.

“I never realized.” 

“Well, I only followed you here the once. After that, I came on my own out of curiosity.” She looked at him expectantly, signaling that he had not answered her question thoroughly. “This will be my fourth trip. You haven’t been here in awhile.”

“And what would you do here by yourself?” She was teasing him as much as she was genuinely asking. 

“Well, my second trip was to see what it is you escaped to. The last several have been to resupply for you if I thought you were planning another trip. You were sly this time.” He gave her a devilish smirk.

“I’m sly? You’ve been restocking my candles and ink, and I had no idea!”

“That just means you’re aloof. For a warrior of your renowned it is alarming how little you notice,” he chided her.

She beat her fist against his chest and made childish cries of indignation until he grasped her wrist, holding her tight, as he leaned into kiss her. The caress was gentle, but she could feel his restraint. 

“I thought you were famished; you’ve only had a few bites.” She whispered as his lips pulled back from hers. She could feel, more than see, the wicked smile he gave as he lifted her up to straddle his lap. 

“The food will wait, I will not,” he growled as his mouth descended on her neck and his hands encompassed her body.

Fenris was ready to feast on her again, and Hawke would let him as many times as he wanted. It briefly occurred to her that they would have to return to civilization at some point and that she would have need of her legs to do so, but as his touch lit the fire of her core, she pushed away rational thought and gave way to the delight. There was still plenty of time before the sun would rise and they would need to make more definitive plans. For now, the world ended outside the cave, and Hawke could not have been gladder for it.


End file.
